sday night, and from that time until his rearrest on
the following Tuesday, I had him under observation every moment. He
left the jail Thursday night, and on Saturday the body floated in at
Sewickley. If it was done by Ladley, it must have been done on Friday,
and on Friday he was in view through the periscope all day!"

Mr. Reynolds came in and joined us. "There's only one way out that I
see," he said mildly. "Two women have been fool enough to have a name
tattooed over their hearts. No woman ever thought enough of me to have
_my_ name put on her."

"I hope not," I retorted. Mr. Reynold's first name is Zachariah.

But, as Mr. Holcombe said, all that had been proved was that Jennie
Brice was dead, probably murdered. He could not understand the defense
letting the case go to the jury without their putting more stress on
Mr. Howell's story. But we were to understand that soon, and many
other things. Mr. Holcombe told me that evening of learning from John
Bellows of the tattooed name on Jennie Brice and of how, after an
almost endless search, he had found the man who had cut the name away.

At eight o'clock the door-bell rang. Mr. Reynolds had gone to lodge,
he being an Elk and several other things, and much given to regalia
in boxes, and having his picture in the newspapers in different
outlandish costumes. Mr. Pitman used to say that man, being denied his
natural love for barbaric adornment in his every-day clothing, took to
the different fraternities as an excuse for decking himself out. But
this has nothing to do with the door-bell.

It was old Isaac. He had a basket in his hand, and he stepped into the
hall and placed it on the floor.

"Evening, Miss Bess," he said. "Can you see a bit of company
to-night?"

"I can always see you," I replied. But he had not meant himself. He
stepped to the door, and opening it, beckoned to some one across the
street. It was Lida!

She came in, her color a little heightened, and old Isaac stood back,
beaming at us both; I believe it was one of the crowning moments
of the old man's life--thus to see his Miss Bess and Alma's child
together.

"Is--is he here yet?" she asked me nervously.

"I did not know he was coming." There was no need to ask which "he."
There was only one for Lida.

"He telephoned me, and asked me to come here. Oh, Mrs. Pitman, I'm
so afraid for him!" She had quite forgotten Isaac. I turned to the
school-teacher's room and opened the door. "The woman who b