d-mirror.

Some ten minutes later Kent rose, placed the papers he had been
examining in the inside pocket of his coat and, using the private
entrance from his office into the corridor, he hurried away.

When Helen McIntyre entered the office of Rochester and Kent for the
second time that afternoon she found Sylvester transcribing stenographic
notes on his typewriter.

"Mr. Kent is expecting you, miss," he said, holding open the inner
office door, and with a courteous word of thanks, Helen passed the clerk
and the door closed behind her. Kent rose at her approach and bowed
formally.

"Take this chair," he suggested, and not until she was seated did Helen
realize he had placed her where the light fell full upon her. "I asked
you to come here," he began, as she waited for him to speak, "Because I
must have your confidence--if I am to aid you. Did you meet, recognize,
and talk to Jimmie Turnbull in your house sometime between Monday
midnight and his arrest on Tuesday morning?"

She colored hotly, then paled. "My testimony at the inquest,"--she
commenced, but he gave her no opportunity to add more.

"Your testimony there does not cover the question," he explained. "You
stated then that you had not recognized Jimmie in the court room. Had
you already penetrated his disguise at your house?"

"And if I had?"

"Did you?" Kent was doggedly persistent, and Helen's fingers closed
around her handbag with convulsive force. Why had she not sent Barbara
to see Kent in her place?

"Did I what?" she parried.

"Did you recognize and talk with Jimmie Turnbull in your house?"

"I talked with him, yes," she admitted, and her voice dropped almost to
a whisper.

"As Jimmie Turnbull or Smith the burglar?"

"As Jimmie"--she confessed, after a slight pause.

"Then why did you go through the farce of having Jimmie arrested as a
burglar?" Kent demanded.

"So that Barbara might win her wager," promptly. Kent stared at her
incredulously.

"Do you mean that, notwithstanding the risk to which you were subjecting
him with his weak heart, you kept up the farce simply that Barbara might
win an idiotic wager?" Kent asked.

Helen passed one nervous hand over the other; her palms were hot and
dry, and two hectic spots had appeared in each white cheek.

"Jimmie was quite well Monday night," she protested. "He--he--had some
heart medicine with him."

"Amyl nitrite?"

"No."

"Nitro-glycerine?"

"I--I think that was it, I am not qu