e evidence, and Jean groaned. It grew
plain as a pike-staff that Janet was at worst an accomplice, and more
probably only an accessory after the crime.

"Her abrupt departure the next day appeared to clinch this hypothesis.
She--she would not betray her mistress and friend, but the shock of the
discovery she must have made had proved too much for her. We figured
she had either left voluntarily to--to pacify her own conscience, or at
Miss Ocky's insistence because she was too dangerous to have around.
And--and that's all, Creighton!"

It wasn't all, as no one knew better than the detective himself. There
was something yet that had to be brought into the light and discussed.
Moved to the very depths of his being, he reached out in the dark and
dropped a hand gently on the big man's knee.

"Why didn't you tell me this at once, Krech?"

"I knew you'd ask that! Well, it was because Jean had some notion--and
I did, for that matter--that if you learned the truth you'd--you'd get
an awful jolt. We have both come to like Miss Ocky immensely, and I
needn't tell you how we feel toward you! When it came to a choice of
hurting you or condoning a crime we--we didn't hesitate long. Jean
said if I ever let out a peep about what I'd seen that night, she'd
divorce me--and, honestly, Creighton, I think she _meant_ it!"

Some emotions do not lend themselves readily to verbal expression.
Peter Creighton was silent, but there was eloquence in the tightening
of his hand on Krech's knee. The big man spoke again, mournfully.

"Do you remember that afternoon at the tannery when I said I'd like
just for once to find out something before you did? Well, I got my
wish the other night--and I'd have given an arm to alter the meaning of
what I'd found!"

"Thank you, Krech. You and Jean are two of the best friends a man ever
had." The detective paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I
expect you'd like to know how I stumbled on to the truth--? All right."

Though he was scarcely conscious of it, the telling of that story
brought him some measure of relief. It eased the ordeal of waiting for
news from the next room. He was forced to concentrate his thoughts on
what he was saying to the exclusion of anxieties and fears, and shortly
his chief concern was the clear presentation of his narrative.

He deemed it advisable that Krech, since he knew so much, should know
all. The single incident he left untold was his dashing of the l