ome?" he asked. "Tell her that I must work all night at the office.
Don't give her any hint that I'm hurt."

"I'll arrange it," Brennan assured him, starting toward the door.

"Just a minute," said John, bringing his unbandaged hand above the
covers. Brennan stopped and, turning, saw the hand extended toward him.

"I don't care what you say, Brennan," John said, "you've got to shake
hands with me."

Brennan hesitated and then returned to the bedside, grasping John's
hand. For a moment they regarded each other silently.

"You saved my life, Brennan, and I'll never forget it," said John
slowly. "If it had not been for you I would be where Murphy is and you
know it."

"If it had not been for Murphy they would have got both of us," said
Brennan. "They went to him to try to find out who we were and I don't
believe he told them."

"How was it they returned to the room when I was there?" John asked.

"I don't know; they probably spotted you when you found Murphy; but I'm
willing to stake my life on it that Murphy was game to the last."

"Brennan," said John, "I'm beginning to think you have a little faith in
mankind after all."

Brennan smiled as he dropped John's hand.

"Perhaps I have," he said. "Now go to sleep," he added, "because there's
a great day ahead of us." He closed the door softly behind him, leaving
John alone with his thoughts.

And his thoughts were of Consuello. He wondered where she would be
during the "great day" before them when she read or learned of the
exposure of Gibson's alliance with "Gink" Cummings, of the horrible
pommeling given Murphy, of the attack upon himself. What would Gibson
say to her? What COULD he say to her? He wished that Gibson would
disappear as Brennan had told him Cummings had. If Gibson wanted to be
merciful that's what he would do, disappear, leave her to think the
worst or the best of him, as she chose.

Pondering over everything that had occurred since the first day he met
him, John concluded that Gibson's single weakness, his inability to give
up his social position when he found himself stranded financially, had
worked his ruin. That love of the "niceness of conventionality," as
Consuello had described it; that irresistible desire to live an easy
life when he should have worked to restore his family fortune; had led
him into trouble. At the moment when he was "broke," when circumstances
were such that he would be compelled to withdraw as the society man
"Gink"