paid to your sister. Did you
also have the fake telegram delivered to me stating Mr. Rochester was in
Cleveland?"

"I faked that," broke in Rochester, before the clerk could make a
disclaimer. "I thought it best to disappear for a few days down in
Virginia, where I could think things over in peace."

"So it was you, Sylvester, and not Mr. Rochester whom I encountered in
his apartment," exclaimed Kent. "How did you get in the apartment?"

"From the fire-escape and along the window ledge to the bathroom
window." Sylvester hitched his shoulders. "It was nothing for a man of
my agility."

Ferguson eyed him with doubtful respect.

"You have courage," he admitted grudgingly. "Come, we must get to
Headquarters," and he aided Sylvester to his feet, but once standing,
Sylvester refused to move. Instead he turned to Helen.

"What was that you passed to Mr. Rochester in the police court and he
later gave to Mr. Turnbull?" he asked. "Oh, don't deny it, I saw you
palm a note, Mr. Rochester, from the young lady."

"There is nothing now to conceal," declared Helen. "After O'Ryan and
Jimmie left the house for the police station I grew fearful that Jimmie
might over-tax his strength in carrying out the farce of his arrest. So
as soon as I could I telephoned to Philip to meet me at the police court
and to bring some amyl nitrite capsules with him."

"And the note, Sylvester, which you saw Miss McIntyre give me in court,"
concluded Rochester, as Helen paused, "told me to hand the capsules
to the burglar and to defend him in court. I did both, although badly
puzzled by the request." Rochester hesitated. "I carried out your
wishes, Helen, without question; but when the burglar's identity
was revealed, I jumped to the conclusion that you had used me as an
instrument to kill him, for I knew something of the effects of amyl
nitrite."

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Helen, aghast.

Rochester looked at her and bit his lip; he knew of her affection for
Jimmie and her attachment to his memory, but he could not kill the hope
that when Time had healed the loss, his devotion might some day win her
for his own.

"I did you great injustice," he admitted humbly. "But I was fearfully
shocked by the scene. I strove to divert suspicion by insisting that
Jimmie died from angina pectoris, and then you came, Helen, and demanded
an autopsy."

"I had to," Helen broke in. "I could not believe that Jimmie's death was
due to natural causes," her voice