ery way," replied the investigator. "No matter what its form, evil
has its base in fear. And it is one of the plain offices of man to
destroy this monster which has ridden him from the beginning. For when
the race was young, the world was filled with unnamed dread--the
darkness was peopled with unseen things. From this fear sprang
superstition. The future held the first men cowed; the past had left the
marks of trials and the memory of pain. And the fear of life has since
made more criminals than perhaps any other thing; while dread of
repeating the past has broken countless lives."

Ashton-Kirk paused for a moment, his eyes still fixed upon the young
man; then he went on:

"This evil which oppresses you so has its roots in a fear, has it not?"

Again there was a pause; the prisoner's eyes met those of the
investigator, fixedly.

"Don't allow it to crush you. You are in deadly danger; you need your
mind to save yourself."

He arose and stood before the other; one hand went out and touched the
prisoner's shoulder.

"I have brought you news. New clues have been found. Before this, the
police have worked only along lines which led to you. Now they've gone
off on another track. There is a woman in the case," and he patted the
drooping shoulder, "and they hope to fasten the crime upon her."

Young Burton came to his feet with a jerk.

"A woman!" he cried. "They are crazy! A woman!" Once more he uttered the
high pitched laugh which had affected Bat so disagreeably. "What can
they be thinking of!" He stared with excited eyes at the investigator,
then at Scanlon, then back again to Ashton-Kirk. "I will not allow it,"
he cried. "Do you hear? I'll not allow it. No woman did this thing. Tell
them I said so. I will not permit an innocent person to be blamed. I did
it! I did it--alone!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE WATERS ARE TROUBLED

The vast machinery used in gathering the news makes it possible for an
event, only an hour or two old, to gain a place in the types and
proclaim itself to the public. And only a short time after Frank Burton
made his confession of guilt in his cell in the county prison, the
newsboys were crying the fact in the street.

Ashton-Kirk and Scanlon had finished with their lunch at Claghorn's; at
the cigar counter in the lobby they paused while they selected their
favorite brands.

"How are you?" said a familiar voice, and looking up they saw Osborne,
big, smiling and serene. "Nasty day," he p