esides, where would be Harry's alibi? He had none; he had been at the
mine, alone. There was no one to testify for him, not even Fairchild.

The world was far from bright. Down the dark street the man wandered,
his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his head low between his
shoulders,--only to suddenly galvanize into intensity, and to stop
short that he might hear again the voice which had come to him. At one
side was a big house,--a house whose occupants he knew instinctively,
for he had seen the shadow of a woman, hands outstretched, as she
passed the light-strewn shade of a window on the second floor. More,
he had heard her voice, supplemented by gruffer tones. And then it
came again.

It was pleading, and at the same time angered with the passion of a
person approaching hysteria. A barking sentence answered her,
something that Fairchild could not understand. He left the old board
sidewalk and crept to the porch that he might hear the better. Then
every nerve within him jangled, and the black of the darkness changed
to red. The Rodaines were within; he had heard first the cold voice of
the father, then the rasping tones of the son, in upbraiding. More,
there had come the sobbing of a woman; instinctively Fairchild knew
that it was Anita Richmond. And then:

It was her voice, high, screaming. Hysteria had come,--the wild,
racking hysteria of a person driven to the breaking point:

"Leave this house--hear me! Leave this house! Can't you see that
you're killing him? Don't you dare touch me--leave this house! No--I
won't be quiet--I won't--you 're killing him, I tell you--!"

And Fairchild waited for nothing more. A lunge, and he was on the
veranda. One more spring and he had reached the door, to find it
unlocked, to throw it wide and to leap into the hall. Great steps, and
he had cleared the stairs to the second floor.

A scream came from a doorway before him; dimly, as through a red
screen, Fairchild saw the frightened face of Anita Richmond, and on the
landing, fronting him angrily, stood the two Rodaines. For a moment,
Fairchild disregarded them and turned to the sobbing, disheveled little
being in the doorway.

"What's happened?"

"They were threatening me--and father!" she moaned. "But you shouldn't
have come in--you should n't have--"

"I heard you scream. I could n't help it. I heard you say they were
killing your father--"

The girl looked anxiously toward an inner room, where Fa