ave to take the
consequences, just as a man that was too old or too sickly to fight
would have to take 'em. If I'd done what Captain Gilbert's done--I
wouldn't expect mercy."

"You mean, if you'd done what you say he's done," I countered. "Nothing
proved yet."

"Nothing proved?" Dykeman huddled in his chair and shivered. Cummings
shook out an overcoat and helped him into it. He settled back with a
protesting air of being about to leave us, and finished squeakily,
"Didn't need to prove that he had Clayte's suitcase."

"Good Lord, Mr. Dykeman! You're not lending yourself to accuse a man
like Worth Gilbert of so grave a crime as murder, just because you found
his ideas irregular--maybe reckless--in a matter of money?"

"Don't answer, Dykeman!" Cummings jumped in. "Boyne's trying to get you
to talk."

The old chap stared at me doubtfully, then broke loose with a snort,

"See here, Boyne, you can't get away from it; your man Gilbert has
embarked on a criminal career: mixed up in the robbery of our bank,
with Clayte to rob us; had our own attorney go through the form of
raising money to buy us off from the pursuit of Clayte--"

"How about me?" I stuck in the question as he paused for breath. "Do you
think Worth Gilbert would put me on the track of a man he didn't want
found?"

Cummings cut in ahead to answer for him,

"Just the point. You've not done any good at the inquiry; never will, so
long as you stand with Worth Gilbert. He needed a detective who would
believe in him through thick and thin. And he found such a man in you."

I could not deny it when Dykeman yipped at me,

"Ain't that true? If it was anybody else, wouldn't you see the
connection? Captain Gilbert came here to Santa Ysobel that Saturday
night--as we've got witnesses to testify--had a row with his
father--we've got witnesses for that, too--the word money passed between
them again and again in that quarrel--and then the young man had the
nerve to walk into our bank next morning with his father's entire
holdings of our stock in Clayte's suitcase--Boyne, you're crazy!"

"Maybe not," I said, reckoning on something human in Dykeman to appeal
to. "You see I know where Worth got that suitcase. It came out of my
office vault--evidence we'd gathered in the Clayte hunt. Getting it and
using it that way was his idea of humor, I suppose."

"Sounds fishy." Dykeman made an uncomfortable shift in his chair. But
Cummings came close, and standing, hands ramme