haggy eyebrows, a portly and dignified
elderly gentleman, rather resentfully courteous.

"Sorry to trouble you," he said. "I suppose I've made a mistake. I--is
your nephew at home?"

"No."

"May I see a picture of him, if you have one?"

David's wild impulse was to smash Gregory to the earth, to annihilate
him. His collar felt tight, and he pulled it away from his throat.

"Not unless I know why you want to see it."

"He is tall, rather spare? And he took a young lady to the theater last
night?" Gregory persisted.

"He answers that description. What of it?"

"And he is your nephew?"

"My brother's son," David said steadily.

Somehow it began to dawn on him that there was nothing inimical in this
strange visitor, that he was anxious and ill at ease. There was, indeed,
something almost beseeching in Gregory's eyes, as though he stood ready
to give confidence for confidence. And, more than that, a sort of not
unfriendly stubbornness, as though he had come to do something he meant
to do.

"Sit down," he said, relaxing somewhat. "Certainly my nephew is making
no secret of the fact that he went to the theater last night. If you'll
tell me who you are--"

But Gregory did not sit down. He stood where he was, and continued to
eye David intently.

"I don't know just what it conveys to you, Doctor, but I am Beverly
Carlysle's brother."

David lowered himself into his chair. His knees were suddenly weak under
him. But he was able to control his voice.

"I see," he said. And waited.

"Something happened last night at the theater. It may be important. I'd
have to see your nephew, in order to find out if it is. I can't afford
to make a mistake."

David's ruddy color had faded. He opened a drawer of his desk and
produced a copy of the photograph of Dick in his uniform. "Maybe this
will help you."

Gregory studied it carefully, carrying it to the window to do so. When
he confronted David again he was certain of himself and his errand for
the first time, and his manner had changed.

"Yes," he said, significantly. "It does."

He placed the photograph on the desk, and sitting down, drew his chair
close to David's. "I'll not use any names, Doctor. I think you know what
I'm talking about. I was sure enough last night. I'm certain now."

David nodded. "Go on."

"We'll start like this. God knows I don't want to make any trouble. But
I'll put a hypothetical case. Suppose that a man when drunk commits a
crime and t