im; no doubt
some woman did come crying for that stuff--but it wasn't Laura."

"By Heaven!" I exclaimed as I looked at him. "You know who it was! You
recognized the voice that night--but the woman isn't one you're
interested in."

"I'm interested in all women, so far as their getting a decent show in
the world is concerned," he maintained sturdily. "I'd go as far as any
man to defend the good name of a woman--whether I thought much of her or
not."

"This other woman," I argued, not any too keen on such a job myself,
"hasn't she got some man to speak for her?"

Edwards looked at me innocently.

"She didn't have, then--" he began, and I finished for him,

"But she has now. I've got it!" As I jumped up and hurried to the door,
his eyes followed me in wonder. There I turned with, "Stay right where
you are. I'll be back in a minute," ducked out into the hall and
signaled a passing messenger, then stepped quickly back into the writing
room and said, "I've sent for Bronson Vandeman."

He settled deeper in his chair with,

"I'll stay and see it out. If you get anything from Vandeman, I miss my
guess."

CHAPTER XXI

A MATTER OF TASTE

Upon our few moments of strained waiting, Vandeman breezed in, full of
apologies for his shirtsleeves. I remember noticing the monogram worked
on the left silken arm, the fit and swing of immaculate trousers, as
smoothly modeled to the hip as a girl's gown; his ever smiling face; the
slightly exaggerated way he wiped fingers already clean on a
handkerchief pulled from a rear pocket. He was the only unconstrained
person in the room; he hardly looked surprised; his glance was merely
inquiring. Edwards apparently couldn't stand it. He jumped up and began
his characteristic pacing of one end of the constricted place, jerking
out as he walked,

"Bronse, it's my fault that Boyne sent for you. He's working on this
trouble of Worth's, you know. He's had me in here, grilling me, shaking
me over hell; and something I said--God knows why--sent him after you."

"Trouble of Worth's!" Vandeman had been about to sit; his half bent
knees straightened out again; he stood beside the chair and spoke
irritably. "Told you, Boyne, if you meddled with that coroner's verdict
you'd get your employer in the devil of a tight place. Nobody had any
reason for wanting Worth's father out of the way--except Worth, himself.
Frankly, I think you're wrong. But everything that I can do--of
course--"

"All