amused smile. So this
man was endeavoring to draw the fire of the police in order to save the
guilty person! Here was a pretty drama of cross-purposes. Had Beard been
sufficiently shrewd to see through the purpose of his detention, he
would have submitted to his imprisonment with less complacency.

"You mean that you are offering yourself as a target in order to shield
the guilty person?" she inquired incredulously.

"Precisely."

"But why?" she demanded.

"Because I conceive it to be Mr. Whitmore's wish."

"Mr. Whitmore!" exclaimed she, obviously puzzled. "You mean he asked you
to?"

"No," acknowledged he. "But I know what must have been in his mind when
he died. I know what he would have done, had he lived to do it. Dearest,
I shouldn't have hesitated to sacrifice my own life for him. I was more
like a son to him than a secretary. And had I been with him when he
died, I know he would have imposed silence on me."

"Then the men in his office--they know the murderer and he asked them
not to tell?" An expression of astonishment overspread her face.

"No," he answered. "They don't know. They've told the truth."

"Horace,"--her voice grew persuasive--"Horace, you mustn't think of
yourself alone now. I can't bear to think of you imprisoned in this
place. For my sake you must leave it and clear yourself of this
accusation."

He shook his head sadly.

"If you knew all the circumstances you'd approve my course."

"But I don't know them--and it's torturing me." For the first time her
features showed the anguish she was suffering. He saw and was moved.

"Listen!" His eyes searched the corridor and the adjoining cells. Seeing
no one but the indifferent trusty who was too far away to overhear,
Beard continued: "Mr. Whitmore loved Mrs. Collins, as you already know.
Were scandal to break over her head--if I did not sacrifice myself to
prevent it--it would be the vilest ingratitude to an employer whose
memory I venerate."

"Then you are protecting Mrs. Collins?" Her frame throbbed with the
conflict of agonized emotions. "Mrs. Collins!" she repeated, as if
afraid that he had misunderstood.

"Yes," he answered resignedly. "I know I am doing precisely what Mr.
Whitmore would have asked, me to do. And now, dear, please don't press
me farther. I can't tell you more--not at this time. When all this shall
have been forgotten, when Mr. Whitmore's death ceases to occupy the
public and the police, then I'll tell you everythi