er, told me," explained Alfred, and Jimmy
remembered guiltily that he had been very bumptious with the fellow.
"You know the place," continued Alfred, "the LaSalle--a restaurant where
I am known--where she is known--where my best friends dine--where Henri
has looked after me for years. That shows how desperate she is. She
must be mad about the fool. She's lost all sense of decency." And again
Alfred paced the floor.

"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that," stammered Jimmy.

"Oh, wouldn't you?" cried Alfred, again turning so abruptly that Jimmy
caught his breath. Each word of Jimmy's was apparently goading him on to
greater anger.

"Now don't get hasty," Jimmy almost pleaded. "The whole thing is no
doubt perfectly innocent. Talk to her gently. Win her confidence. Get
her to tell you the truth."

"The truth!" shouted Alfred in derision. "Zoie! The truth!"

Jimmy feared that his young friend might actually become violent. Alfred
bore down upon him like a maniac.

"The truth!" he repeated wildly. "She wouldn't know the truth if she saw
it under a microscope. She's the most unconscionable little liar that
ever lured a man to the altar."

Jimmy rolled his round eyes with feigned incredulity.

"I found it out before we'd been married a month," continued Alfred.
"She used to sit evenings facing the clock. I sat with my back to it.
I used to ask her the time. Invariably she would lie half an hour,
backward or forward, just for practice. THAT was the BEGINNING. Here,
listen to some of these," he added, as he drew half a dozen telegrams
from his inner pocket, and motioned Jimmy to sit at the opposite side of
the table.

Jimmy would have preferred to stand, but it was not a propitious time to
consult his own preferences. He allowed himself to be bullied into the
chair that Alfred suggested.

Throwing himself into the opposite chair, Alfred selected various
exhibits from his collection of messages. "I just brought these up from
the office," he said. "These are some of the telegrams that she sent me
each day last week while I was away. This is Monday's." And he proceeded
to read with a sneering imitation of Zoie's cloy sweetness.

"'Darling, so lonesome without you. Cried all day. When are you coming
home to your wee sad wifie? Love and kisses. Zoie.'" Tearing the
defenceless telegram into bits, Alfred threw it from him and waited for
his friend's verdict.

"She sent that over the wire?" gasped Jimmy.

"Oh, that's nothin