sula on the main highway to Palo Alto, made the
sweep across to the sea, and then up the coast road. I ran into the
garage about dawn."

"No stops anywhere?"

He shook his head.

"And that's your alibi?"

"That's my alibi." Worth looked at me a long while before he said
finally,

"Don't you see, Jerry, that the other side had all this before they
encouraged Bowman to change his mind about when father was shot?"

I did see it--ought to have known from the first. This was what they had
back of them last night in Cummings' room; this explained the lawyer's
smug self-confidence, Dykeman's violent certainty that Worth was a
criminal. A realization of this had whitened Barbara's face, set her
lips in that pitiful, straight line. As to their momentary chagrin over
Bowman; no trouble to them to get other physicians to bolster any
opinion he'd given. Medical testimony on such a point is notoriously
uncertain. All the jury would want to know was that there could be such
a possibility. I sat there with bent head, and felt myself going to
pieces. Cummings was right--I was no fit man to handle this job. My
personal feelings were too deeply involved. It was Worth's voice that
recalled me.

"Cheer up, Jerry, old man. Take it to Bobs."

Take it to Bobs--the idea of a big, husky old police detective running
to cast his burden on such shoulders! I couldn't quite do it then. I
went and telephoned the little girl that I was doing the best I
could--and then ran circles for the rest of the day, chasing one vain
hope after another, and finally, in the late afternoon, sneaked home to
Santa Ysobel.

Now I had the road more to myself; only an occasional handsome car,
where the wealthy were getting in to the part of the festival they'd
care for. In the orchards near town where the big picnic places had been
laid out with rough board tables and benches, seats for thousands, there
were occasional loud basket lunch parties scattered. All at once I was
hungry enough to have gone and asked for a handout.

I went by back streets down to the house to get my mail. There seemed no
human reason that I should feel it a treachery to have Worth in jail at
San Jose, and be able to walk into his house at Santa Ysobel a free man.
The place was empty; Chung had the day off, of course. It was possible
Worth's cook, even, didn't know what had happened to his employer. Santa
Ysobel had no morning paper. In the confusion of the blossom festival, I
ventu