not go through life with this thing on his
soul. There had been a moment, after he learned of Herman's implication,
when he felt the best thing would be to kill himself, but he had put
that aside. It was too easy. If Herman Klein had done this thing because
of Anna and himself, then he was a murderer. If he had done it because
he was a German, then he--Graham--had no right to die. He would live to
make as many Germans as possible pay for this night's work.

"I've got something to tell you, father," he said, as they paused before
the house where the coffee was ready. Clayton nodded, and together they
went inside. Even this house was partially destroyed. A piece of masonry
had gone through the kitchen, and standing on fallen bricks and plaster,
a cheerful old woman was cooking over a stove which had somehow escaped
destruction.

"It's bad," she said to Graham, as she poured the coffee into cups, "but
it might have been worse, Mr. Spencer. We're all alive. And I guess I'll
understand what my boy's writing home about now. They've sure brought
the war here this night."

Graham carried the coffee into the little parlor, where Clayton sat
dropped on a low chair, his hands between his knees. He was a strange,
disheveled figure, gray of face and weary, and the hand he held out for
the cup was blistered and blackened. Graham did not touch his coffee. He
put it on the mantel, and stood waiting while Clayton finished his.

"Shall I tell you now, sir?"

Clayton drew a long breath.

"It was Herman Klein who did it?"

"Probably. I had a warning last night, but it was too late. I should
have known, of course, but somehow I didn't. He'd been with us a long
time. I'd have sworn he was loyal."

For the first time in his life Graham saw his father weaken, the
pitiful, ashamed weakness of a strong man. His voice broke, his face
twitched. The boy drew himself up; they couldn't both go to pieces. He
could not know that Clayton had worked all that night in that hell with
the conviction that in some way his own son was responsible; that he
knew already what Graham was about to tell him.

"If Herman Klein did it, father, it was because he was the tool of a
gang. And the reason he was a tool was because he thought I was--living
with Anna. I wasn't. I don't know why I wasn't. There was every chance.
I suppose I meant to some time. Anyhow, he thought I was."

If he had expected any outbreak from Clayton, he met none. Clayton sat
lookin