d been replaced by another, one from which a
voice brayed, a voice nasal, jocular, felonious.

"That beast ought to be shot," Jones added.

The musician raised himself a little. "You don't misjudge her, do you?"

Jones, annoyed at the swill tossed about, had turned from him. He turned
back. "Believe me, Mr. Cara, there is no one for whom I have a higher
respect."

A spasm seized the musician. For a moment, save for the effort at
breath, he was silent. Then feebly he said: "I wish she would hurry."

"Can I do anything?"

"Yes, tell me. Do you condemn me?"

The novelist hesitated. "There are no human scales for any soul. Though,
to be sure----"

"What?"

"It might have been avoided. As it is, they will suspect her."

"Cassy?"

"Naturally. They can't hold Lennox on a paper-cutter--that belongs to
me, and a few empty words said in my presence and which, if necessary, I
did not hear. They can't hold him on that. But when they learn, as they
will, the circumstances of your daughter's misadventure, they will
arrest her."

"Merciful God!"

The jeopardy to her, a jeopardy previously undiscerned, but which then
shaken at him, instantly took shape, twisted his mouth into the
appalling grimace that mediaeval art gave to the damned.

"And you don't want that," Jones remotely resumed.

"Want it!" Galvanised by the shock, the musician sat suddenly up. "Last
night, after I got back, I slept like a log. This morning, I felt if I
had not done it, I would still have it to do and that satisfied me. But
afterwards, when I learned about Lennox, it threw me here. Now----My
God!"

He fell back.

The poor devil is done for, thought Jones, who, wondering whether he
could get it over in time, leaned forward.

"Mr. Cara, don't you think you had best make it plain sailing for
everybody, and let me draw up a declaration?"

The disc now had run out. The grunt of the beast was stilled. From
beyond came the quick click of a key. Almost at once Cassy appeared.

She hurried to her father. "There were people ahead of me. They took
forever. Has Mr. Jones told you? Mr. Lennox did not do it."

Breaking a tube in a handkerchief, she was administering the amyl and
Jones wondered whether she could then suspect. But her face was turned
from him, he could not read it, and realising that, in any event, she
must be spared the next act, he cast about for an excuse to get her
away. At once, remembering the notary, he produced him.

"Your