Furmville a wide berth. If disorganized
rumour grew into positive accusation----

And what of himself, Bristow? He had run down the guilty man, had
discovered and hooked together the facts that made retribution almost an
accomplished thing. Could he have been mistaken, entirely wrong? Would
public opinion turn also against him and say he had enmeshed an innocent
negro instead of bringing to punishment a jealousy-maddened husband?

Was there a chance that, in condemning Withers, they would destroy his
reputation for brilliant work?

Pshaw! He shrugged his shoulders. He was worse than the gossiping women,
letting himself conjure up weird and incredible ideas. There was not a
weak place, not an illogical point, in the case he had disclosed against
Carpenter. He had won. His prestige was assured. Far from questioning his
work, they ought to thank him for----

The reverie was interrupted by the telephone bell. He took down the
receiver and shouted "Hello!" as if he resented the call. His irritation
showed what a tremendous amount of nervous energy he had expended in the
last six days.

"Western Union speaking," said a man's voice. "Telegram for Mr. Lawrence
Bristow, nine Manniston Road."

"All right. This is Bristow. Read it to me."

"Message is dated today, Washington, D. C.--'Mr. Lawrence Bristow, nine
Manniston Road, Furmville, N. C. See Encyclopaedia Britannica, volume
one, page five hundred and six, second column, line fifteen to line
seventeen, and page five hundred and seven, second column, line seventeen
to line twenty-three.' Signed 'S. S. Braceway,' Do you get that?"

"No! Wait a minute," he called out sharply. "Let me get a pencil and take
it down."

He did so, verifying the numbers by having the operator repeat the
message a third time. When he had hung up the receiver, he sat staring at
what he had written. It was like so much Greek to him.

"What's it all about?" he puzzled. "Is it one of Braceway's jokes?"

Then he remembered that Braceway was not that kind of a joker. He looked
at his watch. He had no encyclopaedia, and it was now a quarter to
eleven, too late to ring up anybody and ask the absurd favour of having
extracts from an encyclopaedia read to him over the telephone. Besides,
it might be something he would prefer to keep to himself.

He would wait until morning and go to the public library where he could
look up the references with no questions asked. He was annoyed by the
necessity of