ion, so the barrel had been pointing at Hammersmith.

"Saw him distinctly," the coroner repeated. "Mr. Quimby's face is not to
be mistaken."

"If he saw him," retorted Jake, with unexpected cunning, "then the
flames had got a start. One don't see in the dark. They hadn't got much
of a start when I left. So he must have gone up to my room after I came
down."

"It was before the alarm was given; before Mr. Hammersmith here had
crawled out of his room window."

"I can't help that, sir. It was after I left the stable. You can't mix
me up with Quimby's doings."

"Can't we? Jake, you're no lawyer and you don't know how to manage a
lie. Make a clean breast of it. It may help you and it won't hurt
Quimby. Begin with the old lady's coming. What turned Quimby against
her? What's the plot?"

"I don't know of any plot. What Quimby told you is true. You needn't
expect me to contradict it!"

A leaden doggedness had taken the place of his whilom good nature.
Nothing is more difficult to contend with. Nothing is more dreaded by
the inquisitor. Hammersmith realised the difficulties of the situation
and repeated the gesture he had previously made toward the door leading
into an adjoining compartment. The coroner nodded as before and changed
the tone of his inquiry.

"Jake," he declared, "you are in a more serious position than you
realise. You may be devoted to Quimby, but there are others who are not.
A night such as you have been through quickens the conscience of women
if it does not that of men. One has been near death. The story of such a
woman is apt to be truthful. Do you want to hear it? I have no
objections to your doing so."

"What story? I don't know of any story. Women have easy tongues; they
talk even when they have nothing to say."

"This woman has something to say, or why should she have asked to be
confronted with you? Have her in, Mr. Hammersmith. I imagine that a
sight of this man will make her voluble."

A sneer from Jake; but when Hammersmith, crossing to the door I've just
mentioned, opened it and let in Huldah, this token of bravado gave way
to a very different expression and he exclaimed half ironically, half
caressingly:

"Why, she's my sweetheart! What can she have to say except that she was
mighty fortunate not to have been burned up in the fire last night?"

Doctor Golden and the detective crossed looks in some anxiety. They had
not been told of this relation between the two, either by the girl