k; her face
against his. "I shall go away at once," he said hoarsely. "I'll never
appear, and they can think what they will. Then there will be no
necessity for her to come forward. She shall be spared that, no matter
what it costs."

"Romantic and youthful folly," Jannan declared; "loud-sounding and
useless. How little you understand Susan--immediately it is known Culser
was killed between seven and nine, whether you stay or go, she will come
forward with the truth, free you from any suspicion. I tell you every
detail will be canvassed, familiar to the boys on the street. A man
important as yourself, with all your industries and money, and such
salacity, together with Susan Brundon, will make a pretty story. If I
had a chance, Jasper, I'm almost certain I'd sacrifice you without a
quiver. How could you? Susan Brundon! Never telling her--"

"On the contrary, she knew everything. I am not so low as you seem to
think."

"That has no importance now!" Stephen Jannan exclaimed impatiently. "All
that matters is to make it as easy as possible for her, I have, I think,
enough position, influence, to keep the dregs out. But there will be
enough present, even then. Damnable insinuations, winks,
cross-questioning."

His excitement faded before the exigencies of the unavoidable situation;
he became cold, logical, legal. Jasper Penny listened, standing, to his
instructions, the exact forecasting of every move probable at the
hearing in the Mayor's chamber. "After that," Stephen added, "we can
face the problem of Susan's future. She thinks tremendously of her
school. It will fall to pieces in her hands. There can be no question of
material assistance; refused her own brother.

"Now, understand--stay in these rooms until I send for you. See no one.
I'll get on, go to Susan. The thing itself should be short; her
character will assist you there. What a mess you have made of living,
Jasper."

XX

In the silence of the sitting room Jasper Penny heard diverse and yet
mingled inner voices: Essie's younger, exuberant periods, her joy at
presents of gold and jewelled trifles; changing, rising shrilly, to her
last imploring sobs, her frantic embrace of the man that, beyond any
doubt, she had herself killed. Running through this were the strains of
a quadrille, the light sliding of dancing feet, and the sound of a low,
diffident voice, Susan Brundon at the Jannans' ball. The voice
continued, in a different surrounding, and wov