ing in the wrong direction, and
each throb of the shafts in the engine-room seemed to hurl him madly
through space away from his goal.

When he halted in his narrative, the other man looked sternly up, and
his sharp features were decisively set.

"Suppose I should get you there," he began swiftly. "Suppose it were
possible to get back in time, what reason have I to trust you? Suppose
I were willing to trust you absolutely, what right have I--a mere
agent of a cause that's bigger than single lives--to send you back
there, where a word from you would spoil everything? My God, man,
there are thousands of people there who are risking their lives to
change this government. Hundreds of them must die to do it. For
months, we have worked and planned, covering and secreting every
detail of our plotting. We have all taken our lives in our hands. Now,
a word of warning, an indiscreet act, the changing of the garrison on
San Francisco, and where would we be? Every platoon that follows Vegas
and Miraflores marches straight into a death-trap! The signal is
given, and every man goes to destruction as swift as a bat out of
hell. That's what you are asking me to do--to play traitor to my
cause. And you calmly tell me I must do it simply because you've got
friends in town."

The man came to his feet with an excited gesture of anger.

"You know that in this business no man can trust his twin brother, and
you ask me to trust you to the extent of laying in your hands
everything I've worked for--the lives of an army!" His tones rose to a
climax of vehemence: "And that's what you ask!"

"You know you can trust me," began Saxon, conscious of the feeble
nature of his argument. "You didn't have to tell me. I didn't ask your
confidence. I warned you not to tell me."

"Maybe I was a damned fool, and maybe you were pretty slick, playing
me along with your bait of indifference," retorted Rodman, hotly. "How
am I to know whom you really mean to warn? You insist that I shall
harbor a childlike faith in you, yet you won't trust me enough to quit
your damned play-acting. You call on me to believe in you, yet you lie
to me, and cling to your smug alias. You won't confess who you are,
though you know I know it. No, Mr. Carter, I must decline."

Saxon stood white and rigid. Every moment wasted in argument imperiled
more deeply the girl and the friends he must save, for whose hazarded
lives he was unwittingly responsible. Yet, he could do nothing ex