Molly." There was a short
silence, then Dolan heard: "All right, I'll be there in ten minutes."
Then Hendricks turned from the telephone and called Dolan in. He
unlocked a drawer in his desk, and began speaking to Dolan, who stood
over him. Hendricks' voice was low, and he was repressing the
agitation in his heart by main strength.

"Jake," he said, talking as rapidly as he could, "I must be ungodly
frank with you. It doesn't make any difference whether he is right or
not, but Adrian Brownwell may be fooled into thinking he has reason to
be jealous of me." Hendricks was biting his mustache. "He's a raging
maniac of jealousy, Jake, but I'm not afraid of him--not for myself.
I can get him before he gets me, if it comes to that, but to do it
I'll have to sacrifice Molly. And I won't do that. If it comes to her
good name or my life--she can have my life." They were outside now
and Dolan was unhitching the horse. He knew instinctively that he was
not to reply. In a moment Hendricks went on, "Well, there is just one
chance in a hundred that it may turn that way--her good name or my
life--and on that chance I've written some letters here." He reached
in his coat and said, "Now, Jake, put these letters in your pocket and
if anything goes wrong with me, deliver them to the persons whose
names are on the envelopes--and to no one else. I must trust
everything to you, Jake," he said.

Driving up the hill, he met Bemis coming down town. He passed people
going to the meeting in Barclay Hall. He did not greet them, but drove
on. His jaw was set hard, and the muscles of his face were firm. As he
neared the Culpepper home he climbed from the buggy and hitched the
horse to the block in front of his own house. He hurried into the
Culpepper yard, past the lilac bushes heavy with blooms, and up the
broad stone steps with the white pillars looming above him. It was a
quarter to eight, and at that minute Bemis was saying to Adrian
Brownwell, "All right, if you don't believe it, don't take my word for
it, but go home right now and see what you find."

Molly Brownwell met Hendricks on the threshold with trembling steps.
"Bob, what is it?" she asked. They stood in the shadow of the great
white pillars, where they had parted a generation ago.

"It's this, Molly," answered Hendricks, as he put his hand to his
forehead that was throbbing with pain; "Lige Bemis has my letter to
you. Yes," he cried as she gasped, "the note--the very note, and to