jealous for the standards of his
craft, awaited his chief's decision.

"No. Have you sent a man to see her?"

"Yes. She's away."

"Away? Impossible!"

"That's what they said at the house. The reporter got the notion that
there was something queer about her going. Scared out, perhaps."

Hal thought of the proud, frank eyes, and dismissed that hypothesis.
Whatever Esme's responsibility, he did not believe that she would shirk
the onus of it.

"Dr. Elliot?" he enquired.

"Refused all information and told the reporter to go to the devil."

Hal sighed. "Run the story," he said.

"And the picture?"

"And the picture."

Going out he left directions with the telephone girl to try to get Miss
Elliot and tell her that it would be impossible for him to call that
day.

"She will understand when she sees the paper in the morning," he
thought. "Or think she understands," he amended ruefully.

The telephone girl did not get Miss Elliot, for good and sufficient
reasons, but succeeded in extracting a promise from the maiden cousin at
Greenvale that the message would be transmitted.

Through the day and far into the night Hal worked unsparingly, finding
time somehow to visit or call up the hospital every hour. At midnight
they told him that Ellis was barely holding his own. Hal put the
"Clarion" to bed that night, before going to the Surtaine mansion,
hopeless of sleep, yet, nevertheless, so worn out that he sank into
instant slumber as soon as he had drawn the sheets over him. On his way
to the office in the morning, he ran full upon Dr. Elliot. For a moment
Hal thought that the ex-officer meant to strike him with the cane which
he raised. It sank.

"You miserable hound!" said Dr. Elliot.

Hal stood, silent.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"Nothing."

"My niece came to your office to save your rag of a sheet. I shot down a
poor crazy devil in your defense. And this is how you repay us."

Hal faced him, steadfast, wretched, determined upon only one thing: to
endure whatever he might say or do.

"Do you know who's really responsible for that tenement? Answer me!"

"No."

"I! I! I!" shouted the infuriated man.

"You? The records show--"

"Damn the records, sir! The property was trusteed years ago. I should
have looked after it, but I never even thought of its being what it is.
And my niece didn't know till this morning that she owned it."

"Why didn't you say so to our reporter, then?" cried Hal