ething horrible
in the resulting grimace of his twisted mouth.

"There were only two things to do," he said doggedly. "One was to tell
you three. I've done that. The other was to tell the district attorney.
I've done that, too."

Bangs recoiled, as if from a physical blow. Epstein, who had slightly
roused himself at the prospect of action, sank back into a stunned,
goggling silence.

"You've told him!" gasped Rodney, when he could speak.

"Yes." Laurie was pulling himself together. "We're friends, you know,
Perkins and I," he went on, more naturally. "I've seen a good deal of
him lately. He will make it as easy as he can. He has taken my parole.
I've got--till morning." He let them take that in. Then, very simply, he
added, "I have promised to be in my rooms at eight o'clock."

Under this, like a tree-trunk that goes down with the final stroke of
the ax, Rodney Bangs collapsed.

"My God!" he muttered. "My--God!" He fell into the nearest chair and sat
there, his head in his shaking hands.

As if the collapse of his friend were a call to his own strength, Laurie
suddenly sat up and took himself in hand.

"Now, listen," he said. "Let's take this sensibly. We've got to thresh
out the situation, and here's our last chance. I want to make one thing
clear. Shaw was pure vermin. There's no place for his sort in a decent
world, and I have no more regret over--over exterminating him than I
would have over killing a snake. Later, Miss Mayo will tell you why."

Under the effect of the clear, dispassionate voice, almost natural
again, Epstein began to revive.

"It was self-defense," he croaked, eagerly. He caught at the idea as if
it were a life-line, and obviously began to drag himself out of a pit
with its help. "It was self-defense," he repeated. "You vas fighting, I
s'pose. That lets you out."

"No," Laurie dully explained, "he wasn't armed. I thought he was. I
thought he was drawing some weapon. He had used chloroform on me once
before. I was mistaken. But no jury will believe that, of course."

His voice changed and flatted again. His young figure seemed to give in
the chair, as if its muscles sagged under a new burden. For a moment he
sat silent.

"We may as well face all the facts," he went on, at last. "The one thing
I won't endure is the horror of a trial."

"But you'll get off," choked Epstein. "It's self-defense--it's--it's--"

"Or a brain storm, or temporary insanity!" Laurie interrupted. "No, old
cha