the bank, the girl! Three hot
torches, young sir! Very hot torches!" He walked on. Then he turned and
came back and patted Vaniman's arm. "You didn't keep your eye peeled!
The young are thoughtless. But four good old eyes will be serving you
while you're--_away_! Mine and Brother Usial's."

"Thank you!" said the young man, and he went on his way. He was
reflecting on that text the Prophet had enunciated.

Might it not apply as well to Tasper Britt?

CHAPTER XVIII

A PERSISTENT BELIEF

Vaniman was indicted; he was tried; he was convicted; he was sentenced
to serve seven years in the state prison. He refused to allow Squire
Hexter to appeal the case. He had no taste for further struggle
against the circumstantial evidence that was reinforced by perjury.
His consciousness of protesting innocence was subjugated by the morose
determination to accept the unjust punishment.

The general opinion was that he was a very refractory young man because
he would not disclose the hiding place of the gold.

Even the warden of the prison had some remarks to make on that subject.
The chaplain urged Vaniman to clear his conscience and do what he could
to aid the distressed inhabitants of a bankrupt town. This conspiracy of
persistent belief in his guilt put a raw edge on his mental suffering.

His only source of solace was the weekly letter from Vona. Her fortitude
seemed to be unaffected; her loyalty heartened him. And after a time
hope intervened and comforted him; although Vaniman had only a few
friends on the job for him in Egypt, he reflected that Tasper Britt
had plenty of enemies who would operate constantly and for the indirect
benefit of Britt's especial victim. The young man felt that accident
might disclose the truth at any time. But every little while he went
through a period of acute torture; he had a wild desire to break out of
his prison, to be on the ground in Egypt, to go at the job of unmasking
Britt as only a man vitally interested in the task could go at it!

Sometimes his frenzy reached such a height that it resembled the
affliction that pathologists call claustrophobia. He stamped to and fro
in his cell, after the bolts had been driven for the night; he lamented
and he cursed, muffling his tones. And a man named Bartley Wagg, having
taken it upon himself to keep close tabs on Vaniman's state of mind,
noted the prisoner's rebellious restlessness with deepening interest and
coupled a lot of steady ponderi