hen disappears; suppose he leaves behind him a bad record
and an enormous fortune; suppose then he reforms and becomes a useful
citizen, and everything is buried."

Doctor David listened stonily. Gregory lowered his voice.

"Suppose there's a woman mixed up in that situation. Not guiltily, but
there's a lot of talk. And suppose she lives it down, for ten years,
and then goes back to her profession, in a play the families take the
children to see, and makes good. It isn't hard to suppose that neither
of those two people wants the thing revived, is it?"

David cleared his throat.

"You mean, then, that there is danger of such a revival?"

"I think there is," Gregory said bitterly. "I recognized this man last
night, and called a fellow who knew him in the old days, Saunders,
our stage manager. And a newspaper man named Bassett wormed it out of
Saunders. You know what that means."

David heard him clearly, but as though from a great distance.

"You can see how it appears to Bassett. If he's found it, it's the big
story of a lifetime. I thought he'd better be warned."

When David said nothing, but sat holding tight to the arms of his old
chair, Gregory reached for his hat and got up.

"The thing for him to do," he said, "is to leave town for a while. This
Bassett is a hound-hog on a scent. They all are. He is Bassett of the
Times-Republican. And he took Jud--he took your nephew's automobile
license number."

Still David sat silent, and Gregory moved to the door.

"Get him away, to-night if you can."

"Thank you," David said. His voice was thick. "I appreciate your
coming."

He got up dizzily, as Gregory said, "Good-evening" and went out. The
room seemed very dark and unsteady, and not familiar. So this was what
had happened, after all the safe years! A man could work and build and
pray, but if his house was built on the sand--

As the outer door closed David fell to the floor with a crash.

XI

Bassett lounged outside the neat privet hedge which it was Harrison
Miller's custom to clip with his own bachelor hands, and waited. And
as he waited he tried to imagine what was going on inside, behind the
neatly curtained windows of the old brick house.

He was tempted to ring the bell again, pretend to have forgotten
something, and perhaps happen in on what might be drama of a rather high
order; what, supposing the man was Clark after all, was fairly sure to
be drama. He discarded the idea, however, and b