lmost too well done.

Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile.
"Why can't I do it?" he taunted.

She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were
fixed steadily on his. "Because," she whispered, "the man who shot that
girl-is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"

For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes of
the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in the
sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer
afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of
the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "And
you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard below the cluck-cluck
of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.

His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what
this bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought
of Cutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one
disreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring
to the party, to himself.

If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up," and Tammany learned
the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for the
murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who had
tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice to
his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They were
of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which acts
in their sane moments they would be incapable.

The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislike
him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired. The
panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head.

"I don't believe you," he said quietly.

The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.

"Will you see her?" she asked.

"I'd rather see my brother-in-law," he answered

The woman handed him a card.

"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital," she said. "I loaned them
my car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But," she
added, "both your brother and Sammy--that's Sam Muir, the doctor--asked
you wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak."

Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were "Exhibit A,"
presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the