pros--that is, the case will simply be dropped for lack of evidence."

"A week would answer, I think," she said slowly. "You will do it, then?"

I laughed, although I was not especially cheerful.

"No, I'll not do it. I expect to come across the notes any time now,
and I expect just as certainly to turn them over to the state's attorney
when I get them."

She got up suddenly, pushing her chair back with a noisy grating sound
that turned many eyes toward us.

"You're more of a fool than I thought you," she sneered, and left me at
the table.

CHAPTER XXI. Mc KNIGHT'S THEORY

I confess I was staggered. The people at the surrounding tables, after
glancing curiously in my direction, looked away again.

I got my hat and went out in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. That
she would inform the police at once of what she knew I never doubted,
unless possibly she would give a day or two's grace in the hope that I
would change my mind.

I reviewed the situation as I waited for a car. Two passed me going in
the opposite direction, and on the first one I saw Bronson, his hat over
his eyes, his arms folded, looking moodily ahead. Was it imagination? or
was the small man huddled in the corner of the rear seat Hotchkiss?

As the car rolled on I found myself smiling. The alert little man was
for all the world like a terrier, ever on the scent, and scouring about
in every direction.

I found McKnight at the Incubator, with his coat off, working with
enthusiasm and a manicure file over the horn of his auto.

"It's the worst horn I ever ran across," he groaned, without looking up,
as I came in. "The blankety-blank thing won't blow."

He punched it savagely, finally eliciting a faint throaty croak.

"Sounds like croup," I suggested. "My sister-in-law uses camphor and
goose greese for it; or how about a spice poultice?"

But McKnight never sees any jokes but his own. He flung the horn
clattering into a corner, and collapsed sulkily into a chair.

"Now," I said, "if you're through manicuring that horn, I'll tell you
about my talk with the lady in black."

"What's wrong?" asked McKnight languidly. "Police watching her, too?"

"Not exactly. The fact is, Rich, there's the mischief to pay."

Stogie came in, bringing a few additions to our comfort. When he went
out I told my story.

"You must remember," I said, "that I had seen this woman before the
morning of the wreck. She was buying her Pullman ticket when I did.