delay, angry with Braceway. He studied the numbers again,
and allowed himself the rare luxury of an outburst of vari-coloured
profanity.

The idea uppermost in his mind was that the telegram had to do with
Withers--or could it be something about Morley?

In his bed on the sleeping porch, he looked out at the black plumes of
the trees. The silence seemed now neither sinister nor oppressive. All
that was sinister was in the past; had ended the night of the murder; and
Carpenter would go to the chair for it--sure.

And yet, if he were Withers, he would not come back to Manniston Road.
Nobody could foresee what Braceway might imagine and exaggerate, even
if it indicted and condemned his closest friend.

CHAPTER XXVI

WANTED: VENGEANCE

But the next morning was the crowded beginning of the biggest day in
Bristow's life, and the trip to the library was delayed. The hired
automobile was waiting in front of No. 9 when a second telegram came,
a bulky dispatch, scrawled with a pen across several pages. Dated from
New Orleans, it read:

"Reward of five thousand dollars for discovery of my seven-year-old son
within next six days. Kidnapped last Friday night. No clue so far. Am
most anxious for your help. Will pay you two thousand dollars and
expenses and in addition to that will pay you the reward money if you
are successful. Will pay the two thousand whether you succeed or not.
City and state authorities will give you all the help needed. Come at
once if possible. Wire answer.

(Signed) "Emile Loutois."

It was characteristic of Bristow that he was not particularly surprised
or elated by the request for his services. It was the kind of thing he
had foreseen as a result of the advertising he had received.

He made his decision at once. For the past two days the Loutois
kidnapping had commanded big space in the newspapers, and he was familiar
with the story. Emile Loutois, Jr., young son of the wealthiest sugar
planter in Louisiana, had been spirited away from the pavement in front
of his home. It had been done at twilight with striking boldness, and no
dependable trace of the kidnappers had been found.

The delivery boy was waiting on the porch. Bristow typewrote his reply on
a sheet of note paper:

"Terms accepted. Starting for New Orleans at once."

On his way to the door, he stopped and reflected. He went back to the
typewriter and sat down. He had not yet found out the real meani