r 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 card she had
given him. He stuck it in his pocket.

"I'll go to him at once," he said.

To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
tones she said: "Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn't
do that until you'd fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known.
He's afraid some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two no
one must know that."

"This doctor knows it," retorted Wharton.

The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
time she laughed.

"Sammy!" she exclaimed. "He's a lobbygow of mine. He's worked for me for
years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He knows it." Her tone
was convincing. "They both asked," she continued evenly, "you should
keep off until the girl is out of the country, and fixed."

Wharton frowned tho