still swayed,
like a man dangled on strings, against the piano.

"Yes; tell him!" urged Wilton.

Hastings handed Webster the envelope flap. Instead of looking at it,
Webster let it drop on the piano.

"One of the words," Hastings said, "is 'pursuit.' The other two are
uncompleted."

"And it's her handwriting, the daughter's?" Wilton said.

"Beyond a doubt."

Webster kept his unwinking eyes on the detective, apparently unable to
break the spell that held him. For a long moment, he had said nothing.
When he did speak, it was with manifest difficulty. His words came in a
screaming whisper:

"Then, I'm in desperate shape!"

"Nonsense, man!" Judge Wilton protested, his voice raised, and, going to
his side, struck him sharply between the shoulders. "Get yourself
together, Berne! Brace up!"

The effect on the collapsing man was, in a way, magical. He stood erect
in response to the blow, his elbows no longer seeking support on the
piano. He got his eyes away from Hastings and looked at the judge as a
man coming out of a sound sleep might have done. For a few seconds, he
had one hand over his mouth, as if, by actual manipulation, he would
gain control of the muscles of his lips.

"I feel better," he said at last, dropping the hand from before his face
and squaring his shoulders. "I don't know what hit me. If I'd--you
know," he hesitated, frowning, "if I'd killed the woman, I couldn't have
acted the coward more thoroughly."

Hastings went through with what he wanted to say:

"About that letter, Mr. Webster: have you any idea, can you advance any
theory, as to how that piece of the envelope got into your room?"

Webster was passing his hand across his hair now, and breathing in a
deep, gusty fashion.

"Not the faintest," he replied, hoarsely.

"That's all, then, gentlemen!" Hastings said, so abruptly that both of
them started. "We don't seem to have gone very far ahead with this
business. We won't, until you--particularly you, Webster--tell me what
you know. It's your own affair----"

"My dear sir----" Judge Wilton began.

"Let me finish!" Hastings spoke indignantly. "I'm no fool; I know when
I'm trifled with. Understand me: I don't say you got that letter, Mr.
Webster; I don't say you ever saw it; I don't know the truth of it--yet.
I do say you've deliberately refused to respond to my requests for
cooperation. I do say you'd prefer to have me out of this case
altogether. I know it, although I'm not clear a