rrel with Uncle James. Do you believe me absolutely? Don't you
waver at all?"

"I don't think you had any more to do with it than I had myself,"
answered the older cousin instantly, with conviction.

Kirby gave him his hand impulsively. "You'll sure do to ride the river
with, James."

CHAPTER XV

A GLOVE AND THE HAND IN IT

As Rose saw the hand of the law closing in on Kirby, she felt as though
an ironic fate were laughing in impish glee at this horrible climax of
her woe. He had sacrificed a pot of gold and his ambition to be the
champion rough rider of the world in order to keep her out of trouble.
Instead of that he had himself plunged into it head first.

She found herself entangled in a net from which there was no easy
escape. Part, at least, of the evidence against Kirby, or at least the
implication to be drawn from it, did not fit in with what she knew to
be the truth. He had not been in the apartment of James Cunningham
from 9.30 until 10.15. He might have been there at both times, but not
for the whole interval between. Rose had the best reason in the world
for knowing that.

But what was she to do? What ought she to do? If she went with her
story to the district attorney, her sister's shame must inevitably be
dragged forth to be flaunted before the whole world. She could not do
that. She could not make little Esther the scapegoat of her
conscience. Nor could she remain silent and let Kirby stay in prison.
That was unthinkable. If her story would free him she must tell it.
But to whom?

She read in the "Post" that James Cunningham was endeavoring to
persuade the authorities to accept bond for his cousin's appearance.
Swiftly Rose made up her mind what she would do. She looked up in the
telephone book the name she wanted and made connections on the line.

"Is this Mr. Cunningham?" she asked.

"Mr. Cunningham talking," came the answer.

"I want to see you on very important business. Can I come this
morning?"

"I think I didn't catch your name, madam."

"My name doesn't matter. I have information about--your uncle's death."

There was just an instant's pause. Then, "Ten o'clock, at the office
here," Rose heard.

A dark, good-looking young man rose from a desk in the inner office
when Rose entered exactly at ten. In his eyes there sparked a little
flicker of surprised appreciation. Jack Cunningham was always
susceptible to the beauty of women. This girl was lovely both