But we want to hear you say it, flat-foot."

"Of course I'm with you. That is, I'd like to be. But I don't want to
get into trouble, Mr. Whitford. Can you blame me for that?"

"You wouldn't get into trouble," argued the mine owner impatiently. "I
keep telling you that."

Beatrice, watching the younger man closely, saw as in a flash the
solution of this mystery--the explanation of the tangle to which
various scattered threads had been leading her.

"Are you sure of that, Dad?"

"How could he be hurt, Bee?"

The girl let Bromfield have it straight from the shoulder. "Because
Clay didn't kill that man Collins. Clarendon did it."

"My God, you know!" he cried, ashen-faced. "He told you."

"No, he didn't tell us. For some reason he's protecting you. But I
know it just the same. You did it."

"It was in self-defense," he pleaded.

"Then why didn't you say so? Why did you let Clay be accused instead
of coming forward at once?"

"I was waiting to see if he couldn't show he was innocent without--"

"Without getting you into it. You wanted to be shielded at any cost."
The scorn that intolerant youth has for moral turpitude rang in her
clear voice.

"I thought maybe we could both get out of it that way," he explained
weakly.

"Oh, you thought! As soon as you saw this morning's paper you ought to
have hurried to the police station and given yourself up."

"I was ill, I keep telling you."

"Your man could telephone, couldn't he? He wasn't ill, too, was he?"

Whitford interfered. "Hold on, honey. Don't rub it in. Clarendon was
a bit rattled. That's natural. The question is, what's he going to do
now?"

Their host groaned. "Durand'll see I go to the chair--and I only
struck the man to save my own life. I wasn't trying to kill the
fellow. He was shooting at me, and I had to do it."

"Of course," agreed Whitford. "We've got proof of that. Lindsay is
one witness. He must have seen it all. I've got in my pocket one of
the bullets Collins shot. That's more evidence. Then--"

Beatrice broke in excitedly. "Dad, Mr. Muldoon just told me over the
'phone that they've got the express wagon. The plank with the bullet
holes was in it. And the driver has confessed that he and a carpenter,
whose name he had given, changed the partition for Durand."

Whitford gave a subdued whoop. "We win. That lets you out, Clarendon.
The question now isn't whether you or Clay will go to the penitentiary,