feet, I left him grumbling and went to
the telephone. It proved to be Richey, who had found me by the simple
expedient of tracing Alison, and he was jubilant.

"You'll have to come back," he said. "Got a railroad schedule there?"

"I don't sleep with one in my pocket," I retorted, "but if you'll hold
the line I'll call out the window to Johnson. He's probably got one."'

"Johnson!" I could hear the laugh with which McKnight comprehended the
situation. He was still chuckling when I came back.

"Train to Richmond at six-thirty A.M.," I said. "What time is it now?"

"Four. Listen, Lollie. We've got him. Do you hear? Through the woman
at Baltimore. Then the other woman, the lady of the restaurant"--he was
obviously avoiding names--"she is playing our cards for us. No--I don't
know why, and I don't care. But you be at the Incubator to-night at
eight o'clock. If you can't shake Johnson, bring him, bless him."

To this day I believe the Sam Forbeses have not recovered from the
surprise of my unexpected arrival, my one appearance at dinner in
Granger's clothes, and the note on my dresser which informed them the
next morning that I had folded my tents like the Arabs and silently
stole away. For at half after five Johnson and I, the former as
uninquisitive as ever, were on our way through the dust to the station,
three miles away, and by four that afternoon we were in Washington. The
journey had been uneventful. Johnson relaxed under the influence of my
tobacco, and spoke at some length on the latest improvements in gallows,
dilating on the absurdity of cutting out the former free passes to see
the affair in operation. I remember, too, that he mentioned the curious
anomaly that permits a man about to be hanged to eat a hearty meal. I
did not enjoy my dinner that night.

Before we got into Washington I had made an arrangement with Johnson to
surrender myself at two the following afternoon. Also, I had wired to
Alison, asking her if she would carry out the contract she had made. The
detective saw me home, and left me there. Mrs. Klopton received me with
dignified reserve. The very tone in which she asked me when I would dine
told me that something was wrong.

"Now--what is it, Mrs. Klopton?" I demanded finally, when she had
informed me, in a patient and long-suffering tone, that she felt worn
out and thought she needed a rest.

"When I lived with Mr. Justice Springer," she began acidly, her
mending-basket in her hands, "i