n the heart of his wife. And he had believed that he had. Still,
who else, in all that little company, could have had any motive in leaving
out Weatherbee? Why had she told the story at all? She was a woman of
great self-control, but also she had depths of pride. Had she, in the high
tide of her anger or pique, taken this means to retaliate for the
disappointment he had caused her?

The approaching work-train whistled the station. He rose and went back to
the operator's desk and filled another blank. This time he addressed a
prominent attorney, and his close friend, in Washington, D.C. And the
message ran:

"See _Sampson's Magazine_, March, page 330. Find whether revised or
Daniels' copy."

Toward noon the following day the express began to crawl cautiously out,
with the rotaries still bucking ahead, through the great snow canyons. The
morning of the sixteenth he had left Spokane with the great levels of the
Columbia desert stretching before him. And that afternoon at Wenatchee,
with the white gates of the Cascades a few hours off, a messenger called
his name down the aisle. The answer had come from his attorney. The story
was straight copy; published as received.

CHAPTER XXV

THE IDES OF MARCH

In order to prepare for the defense, Miles Feversham, accompanied by his
wife, arrived in Seattle the first week in March. The month had opened
stormy, with heavy rains, and to bridge the interval preceding the trial,
Marcia planned an outing at Scenic Hot Springs where, at the higher
altitude, the precipitation had taken the form of snow, and the hotel
advertised good skeeing and tobogganing. "Make the most of it," she
admonished Frederic; "it's your last opportunity. If Lucky Banks forfeits
his bonus, and you can manage to keep your head and use a little
diplomacy, we may have the engagement announced before the case comes up."

Though diplomacy was possible only through suggestion, Frederic was a
willing and confident medium. He knew Mrs. Weatherbee had notified Banks
she was at Scenic and, watching her that day of the fifteenth, he was at
first puzzled and then encouraged that, as the hours passed and the
prospector failed to come, her spirits steadily rose.

Elizabeth betrayed more anxiety. At evening she stood at the window in
Beatriz's room, watching the bold front of the mountain which the Great
Northern tracks crosscut to Cascade tunnel, when the Spokane local rounded
the highest curve and dropped caut