e came home from the theatre she heard the newsboys
calling their papers on the street corners. She couldn't quite make out
what they were saying, so she had the car stop and her driver get one of
the papers. Then she got the facts of the matter. Young Frank Burton has
been arrested for his father's murder."

"So!" said Ashton-Kirk. "I expected to hear that had happened. For, from
what you've told me, the police have a fair tissue of evidence."

"That's about what I told Nora. But it bowled her over completely. Her
voice began to shake and I knew she was crying."

"'But he didn't do it,' she says. 'He didn't do it. He's innocent--I
know he is.'

"I tried to reason with her," proceeded Bat. "But she wouldn't listen.
She kept repeating that he was innocent--that he had suffered enough at
that man's hands while he was alive, and that he mustn't go on suffering
now that the father was dead."

"Well?" asked Ashton-Kirk, as the other paused; "what then?"

"Then," said Scanlon, "she was on my neck to get him out of the thing. I
_must_ do it! I _must_ not let them harm him! And all that kind of
thing. She seems to think that I've got a heavy drag with the police,
and all there is for me to do is to snap my fingers and they'll sit up
and perform. I tried to persuade her that this was a dream; but I
couldn't convince her. And the result was that I had to promise to see
her right away." Bat looked dolefully at his friend. "I'm on my way
there now," he said, "and I thought I'd stop in and ask what I'd better
do."

Ashton-Kirk arose and took a turn up and down the room; then throwing
away the cigarette end, he paused in front of his friend and asked:

"What would you say if I suggested that I go with you?"

"Fine!" Scanlon jumped up, an expression of relief upon his face. "The
very thing! Get your hat. My cab is still at the door. I couldn't have
asked for anything better than that."

Within five minutes the two were on the street--a street lined with fine
wide houses of a bygone time, but which was now a bedlam of throaty
voices, a whirling current of alien people, a miasma of stale smells.
The taxi soon whirled them out of this section and into another,
equally old, but still clinging to its ancient state. The houses were
square fronted and solid looking, built of black-headed brick and
trimmed with white stone; there were marble carriage blocks and
hitching-posts at the curb.

"I wonder how long before this will begi