You can understand, too, that he may feel he cannot come back
to us, with this thing hanging over him. What we have to do now is to
find him, and to tell him that it makes no difference. That he has his
place in the world waiting for him, and that we are waiting too."

When it was all over, her questions and his sometimes stumbling replies,
he saw that out of it all the one thing that mattered vitally to her was
that Dick was only a fugitive, and not dead. But she said, just before
they went, arm in arm, up the stairs:

"It is queer in one way, father. It isn't like him to run away."

He told Margaret, later, and she listened carefully.

"Then you didn't tell her about the woman in the case?"

"Certainly not. Why should I?"

Mrs. Wheeler looked at him, with the eternal surprise of woman at the
lack of masculine understanding.

"Because, whether you think it or not, she will resent and hate that as
she hates nothing else. Murder will be nothing, to that. And she will
have to know it some time."

He pondered her flat statement unhappily, standing by the window and
looking out into the shaded street, and a man who had been standing,
cigar in mouth, on a pavement across withdrew into the shadow of a tree
box.

"It's all a puzzle to me," he said, at last. "God alone knows how it
will turn out. Harrison Miller seems to think this Bassett, whoever he
is, could tell us something. I don't know."

He drew the shade and wound his watch. "I don't know," he repeated.

Outside, on the street, the man with the cigar struck a match and looked
at his watch. Then he walked briskly toward the railway station. A half
hour later he walked into the offices of the Times-Republican and to the
night editor's desk.

"Hello, Bassett," said that gentleman. "We thought you were dead. Well,
how about the sister in California? It was the Clark story, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Bassett, noncommittally.

"And it blew up on you! Well, there were others who were fooled, too.
You had a holiday, anyhow."

"Yes, I had a holiday," said Bassett, and going over to his own desk
began to sort his vast accumulation of mail. Sometime later he found the
night editor at his elbow.

"Did you get anything on the Clark business at all?" he asked. "Williams
thinks there's a page in it for Sunday, anyhow. You've been on the
ground, and there's a human interest element in it. The last man who
talked to Clark; the ranch to-day. That sort of thing."

Bass