not know Jimmie?" asked her sister. "Don't stare so, dearest."
Her tone was pleading.

"Perhaps the young lady has some difficulty in recognizing Mr. Turnbull
in his disguise," suggested Ferguson, who stood somewhat in the
background but closely observing the scene.

"Disguise!" Helen raised her eyes and Ferguson, hardened as he had
become to tragic scenes, felt a throb of pity as he caught the pent-up
agony in her mute appeal.

"Yes, Miss," he said awkwardly. "The burglar you caught in your house
was Mr. Turnbull in disguise."

Barbara McIntyre released her grasp of her sister's arm and collapsed on
a chair. Stone, still supporting Helen, felt her muscles grow taut and
an instant later she stepped back from his side and stood by her sister.
As the two girls faced the circle of men, the likeness between them was
extraordinary. Each had the same slight graceful figure, equal
height; and feature for feature, coloring matching coloring, they were
identical; their gowns, even, were cut on similar lines, only their hats
varied in shape and color.

"Do I understand, gentlemen," Helen began, and her voice gained
steadiness as she proceeded, "that the burglar whom Officer O'Ryan and I
caught lurking in our house was James Turnbull?"

"He was," answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly at
him, confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, "Yes."

The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet.

"Jimmie won his wager," she announced. Her gaze did not waver before
the concentrated regard of the men facing her. "He broke into our
house--but, oh, how can I pay my debt to him now that he is dead!"

"Hush!" Helen laid a cautioning hand on her sister's arm as the latter's
voice gained in shrillness, the shrillness of approaching hysteria.

"I am all right, Helen." Barbara waved her away impatiently. "What
caused Jimmie's death?"

"Angina pectoris," declared Rochester. "Too much excitement brought on
a fatal attack." Barbara nodded dazedly. "I knew he had heart trouble,
but--" She stepped toward Turnbull and her voice quivered with feeling.
"Don't leave Jimmie lying there; take him to his room, doctor," turning
entreatingly to Stone.

The physician looked at her compassionately. "I will, just as soon as
the coroner views the body," he promised. "But come away now, Babs; this
is no place for you and Helen." He signed to the deputy marshal to open
the door as he walked across the room, B