ng of the
Braceway message; and he did not propose to leave Furmville until he was
assured that nothing could be done to blur the brightness of his work on
the Withers case.

He realized, and at the same time resented, the tribute he paid Braceway
through his hesitancy. The man was a clever detective and, if left to
dominate Greenleaf unopposed, might easily focus attention on a new
theory of the crime. Not that this could result in the acquittal of the
negro; but it might deprive him, Bristow, of the credit he was now given.

Wouldn't it be well for him to stay in Furmville another twenty-four
hours? There was Fulton; he wanted to learn how fully he approved of
Braceway's refusal to accept the case against Perry Carpenter. Moreover,
it seemed essential now that he discover the whereabouts of Withers. And
twenty-four hours could hardly change anything in the kidnapping case.

He tore up what he had written, and rattled off:

"Held here twenty-four hours longer by Withers case. Start to New
Orleans tomorrow morning. Terms accepted."

As he handed it to the boy, he saw Mr. Fulton coming up the steps. He
greeted the old gentleman with easy, smiling cordiality and pushed
forward a chair for him, giving no sign of impatience at being delayed
in his trip to the library.

The simple dignity and strength of Fulton's bearing was even more
impressive than it had been during their first talk. The lines were still
deep in his face, but his eyes glowed splendidly, and this time, when he
rested his hands on the chair-arms, they were steady.

"I've come to beg news," he announced, his apologetic smile very winning.

"Just what news?" returned Bristow. "I'll be glad to give you anything I
can."

"The real results of your trip; that's what I'd like to know about. I got
no letter or telegram from Sam Braceway this morning; no report at all."

Bristow told him the story in generous detail, concluding with his
conviction that Morley, although a thorough scoundrel, was innocent of
any hand in the murder.

"I wish I could agree with you," said the old man. "I wish we all could
satisfy our minds and take the evidence against the negro as final. But
we can't. At least, I can't. I can't believe anything but that the
disguised man, the one with the beard, is the one we've got to find."

"You still think that man is Morley?"

"I do--which reminds me. I came up here to tell you something I got from
Maria, my daughter. She told