to his express orders, arrested
Hughes, and pulled this thing over on us."

"Oh, Mr. Boyne! Of course he wouldn't blame you. Neither would I. You
acted for what you thought was his good. The others--"

"Vandeman's already gone home. Tell you he stood by well, Barbara--that
tailor's dummy! Surprised me. No, no. Didn't let Jim Edwards come with
us; so broken up I didn't want him along--only hurt our case over here,
the way he is now."

"Your case?" she spoke out clearly. "What is the situation?"

"A murder charge against Worth on the secret files. Hughes is
out--Cummings got him--took him, don't know where. Can't locate him."

"Do you need to?"

"Perhaps not, Barbara. What I do need is some one who saw Thomas Gilbert
alive that night after Worth left to go back to San Francisco."

"And if you had that--some one?"

"If we could produce before Cummings one credible witness to that, it
would mean an alibi. I'd have Worth out before morning."

"Then, Mr. Boyne, get to the Fremont House here as quickly as you can.
Mr. Cummings is there. Get him out of bed if you have to. I'll bring the
proof you need."

"But, child!" I began.

"Don't--waste--time--talking! How long will it take you to get here?"

"Half an hour."

"Oh! You may have to wait for me a little. But I'll surely come. Wait in
Mr. Cummings' room."

Half past twelve when I reached the Fremont House, to find it all
alight, its lobby and corridors surging with the crowd of blossom
festival guests. Nobody much in the bar; soft drinks held little
interest; but in the upper halls, getting to Cummings' room, I passed
more than one open door where the hip-pocket cargoes were unloading, and
was even hailed by name, with invitations to come in and partake.
Cummings was still up. The first word he gave me was,

"Dykeman's here."

"Glad of it," I said. "Bring him in. I want you both."

It took a good deal of argument before he brought the Western Cereal
man from the adjoining room where he had evidently been just getting
ready for bed. He came to the conference resentful as a soreheaded old
bear.

"Maybe you think Worth Gilbert will sleep well to-night--in jail?" I
stopped him, and instantly differentiated the two men before me.
Cummings took it, with an ugly little half smile; Dykeman rumpled his
hair, and bolstered his anger by shouting at me,

"This country'll go to the dogs if we make an exempt class of our
returned soldiers. Break the laws--they'll h