ong enough to convince himself that Helen was out of
danger, and then had departed.

It was nearly one o'clock when he finally stepped inside his office, and
he found his clerk and a dressy female bending eagerly over a newspaper.
They looked up at his approach and Sylvester came forward.

"This is my wife, sir," he explained, and Kent bowed courteously to
Mrs. Sylvester. "We were just reading this account of Mr. Rochester's
disappearance; it's dreadful, sir, to think that the police believe him
guilty of Mr. Turn bull's murder."

"Dreadful, indeed," agreed Kent; the news had been published even sooner
than he had imagined. "What paper is that?"

"The noon edition of the Times." Sylvester handed it to him.

"Thanks," Kent flung down his hat and spread open the paper. "Who have
been here to-day?"

"Colonel McIntyre, sir; he left a card for you." Sylvester hurried into
Kent's office, to return a moment later with a visiting card. "He left
this, sir, for you with most particular directions that it be handed to
you at once on your arrival."

Kent read the curt message on the card without comment and tore the
paste-board into tiny bits.

"Any one else been in this morning?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Sylvester consulted a written memorandum. "Mr. Black called,
also Colonel Thorne, Senator Harris, and Mrs. Brewster."

"Mrs. Brewster!" The newspaper slipped from Kent's fingers in his
astonishment. "What did she want here?"

"To see you, sir, so she said, but she first asked for Mr. Rochester,"
explained Sylvester, stooping over to pick up the inside sheet of
the Times which had separated from the others. "I told her that Mr.
Rochester was unavoidably detained in Cleveland; then she said she would
consult you and I let her wait in your office for the good part of an
hour."

Kent thought a moment then walked toward his door; on its threshold he
paused, struck by a sudden idea.

"Did Colonel McIntyre come with Mrs. Brewster?" he asked.

"No, Mr. Kent; he came in while she was here."

"And they went off together," volunteered Mrs. Sylvester, who had been
a silent listener to their conversation. Kent started; he had forgotten
the woman. "Excuse me, Mr. Kent," she continued, and stepped toward
him. "I presume, likely, that you are very interested in this charge of
murder against your partner, Mr. Rochester."

"I am," affirmed Kent, as Mrs. Sylvester paused.

"I am too, sir," she confided to him. "Cause you see I was