ount."

"Too bad!" said Ashton-Kirk, rather more absently than should have been
the case. "Too bad!"

"And that's what I mean," said Bat Scanlon, "when I say that I may
declare myself before long. I won't if I can help it; but if certain
things come to pass--well, there's nothing else to be expected."

"Of course not!" said the investigator. "You are quite right. But let us
hope that everything will come out all right." He looked at his watch,
and then arose briskly from the sofa. "I'd almost forgotten," he said.
"My plan was to visit young Burton to-day. Will you come along?"

The idea appealed to Scanlon. He had seen the young artist only once,
and that once had left its impress on his mind.

"Sure," said he; "there's nothing I'd like better than a chance to hear
and see that young fellow again."

Ashton-Kirk summoned Stumph and said:

"Tell Dixon to bring around the car at once."

Ten minutes later, attired in a long, closely-fitting coat, he walked at
Scanlon's side down the steps to the waiting car.

"Perhaps," said the investigator, "it would have been a trifle better if
I had made this visit a day or two ago, as I had intended. But I had a
reason for not doing so." The door of the car closed upon them and as
they whirled away through the fine rain Ashton-Kirk went on: "Last night
I told you I was trying a little experiment. Well, to-day," and there
was a look of eagerness in the keen eyes, "I hope to get a result."

"What sort of a result?" asked Scanlon.

"Oh, that I don't know. Wait, and we shall see."

CHAPTER XVI

"CONFESSED!"

The sombre, battlemented walls of the jail looked grim and merciless
through the gray of the day. To Scanlon they seemed of appalling
thickness and hardness; the turrets, which occurred at regular
intervals, he knew held men, armed and sleepless, who watched
tirelessly. Hundreds and hundreds of dingy souls drooped inside; guilt
hung over the whole place like a palpable thing.

"Crime will never be cured by placing criminals in institutions like
this," said Ashton-Kirk, as they waited at the gate. "Instead, it breeds
here. Prison-keepers are a race of themselves; as a rule they are
bullies and grafters. And men placed for terms of years at the mercy of
these can't be expected to grow, except toward the shadows. A youth,
who, because of idleness, impulse or dissipation, offends society in
some way, is thrown into this pit of moral filth to cleanse himself.
Very