for aid, he
dismissed the suspicion.

"I'd stake my life on her honesty," he decided. "Her intuition gave her
the correct solution--if Wilton's not lying now!"

He put the obvious question: "Judge, am I the first one to hear
this--from you?" and received the obvious answer: "You are. I didn't
volunteer it to you, did I?"

"All right. Now, did you believe Webster? Wait a minute! Did you believe
his fear wasn't for himself when he gagged you that way?"

"Yes; I did," replied Wilton, in a tone that lacked sincerity.

"Do you believe it now?"

"If I didn't, do you think I'd have tried for a moment to conceal what
he said to me?"

"Why did you conceal it?"

"Because Arthur Sloane was my friend, and his daughter's happiness would
have been ruined if I'd thrown further suspicion on him. Besides, what I
did conceal could have been of no value to any detective or sheriff on
earth. It meant nothing, so long as I knew the boy's sincerity--and his
innocence as well as Arthur's."

"But," Hastings persisted, "why all this concern for Webster, after his
engagement had been broken?"

"How's that?" Wilton countered. "Oh, I see! The break wasn't permanent.
Arthur and I had decided on that. We knew they'd get together again."

Hastings halted in front of the judge's chair.

"Have you kept back anything else?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Wilton said, with a return of his former sullenness. "And,"
he forced himself to the avowal, "I'm sorry I kept that back. It's
nothing."

Hastings' manner changed on the instant. He was once more cordial.

"All right, judge!" he said heartily, consulting his ponderous watch.
"This is all between us. I take it, you wouldn't want it known by the
sheriff, even now?" Wilton shook his head in quick negation. "All right!
He needn't--if things go well. And the person I got it from won't spread
it around.--That satisfactory?"

The judge's smile, in spite of his best effort, was devoid of
friendliness. The dark flush that persisted in his countenance told how
hardly he kept down his anger.

Hastings put on his hat and ambled toward the door.

"By the way," he proclaimed an afterthought, "I've got to ask one more
favour, judge. If Mrs. Brace troubles you again, will you let me know
about it, at the earliest possible moment?"

He went out, chuckling.

But the judge was as mystified as he was resentful. He had detected in
Hastings' manner, he thought, the same self-satisfaction, the same quiet