"Brutes every one of them—and Billy Murgatroyd the worst of all!" The exclamation fell from Shirley Bloodgood's lips.

Miriam Challoner had been resting her head forlornly on her arms as she sat at a table, but on hearing the young woman's bitter remark she raised her head and smiled a wan smile.

"Mr. Murgatroyd?" The tone was one of surprise. "Why, I thought you liked him, Shirley?"

The girl hunched her shoulders expressively.

"You have things badly twisted, Miriam—he likes me." And suddenly rising to her feet, she clapped her hands impulsively. "Oh, Miriam, I almost forgot—I've good news—good news for you!" Then she ran swiftly toward Mrs. Challoner and swiftly back again to the window. "No, they're out of sight—almost...."

"Good news? What good news?" Miriam asked incredulously.

Shirley placed a hand upon her lips.

"Prosecutor Murgatroyd," she began, "told me in confidence——"

"In confidence!" Miriam repeated; "then you had better not——"

Shirley shook her head belligerently.

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "It's all right! Billy Murgatroyd likes to tell things to me. He told me once that he believed that to be one of the controlling motives that led to matrimony.... That a man should have somebody to tell things to."

Mrs. Challoner's curiosity got the better of her.

"And he told you—" she inquired eagerly.

"He told me the facts—gave away his evidence to me." Shirley tossed her head.

"But—" again protested Miriam.

Once more Shirley silenced her.

"No—I shall tell you—this may be a matter of life and death; besides, you are entitled to know the truth."

"Yes, yes," assented Miriam, "tell me—I must know—but first, wait a moment." She pushed a button and Stevens entered.

"Stevens," she said in a low, strained voice, "don't let any one in the house. Do you understand? I simply cannot stand it—to see another person."

When Stevens had left the room the girl resumed:—

"Murgatroyd told me, Miriam, the greatest cock-and-bull story you ever heard." Miriam looked as if her brain would snap. "It seems that the papers have distorted, exaggerated everything. The fact is, Miriam, dear, the case is the flimsiest...."

Miriam drew a deep breath.

"How? Explain yourself!"

Then Shirley went on to tell that nobody had seen Hargraves killed, nobody had seen the shot fired; that they had only got some disreputable gambler or other who claimed to have witnessed a quarrel between them.

"And, oh, yes," she added a moment later, "the man that killed Hargraves robbed him of ten thousand dollars—and of course Lawrence Challoner wouldn't rob a man, much less kill one—so don't you see, there's nothing in the story at all."

"I don't know," answered Miriam slowly, "whether he would or not."

"What!" gasped the girl.

"Don't misunderstand me," pleaded the woman. "There are two Lawrence Challoners—one is the man I love—that loves me; the other is the Lawrence Challoner who—well—I don't care," she added fiercely, "what he's done, I want him back." She sobbed for an instant. "You didn't know, Shirley, that we had a quarrel—I treated him badly, shamefully; he hasn't come back since."

"You quarrelled—you, Miriam!" The girl opened her eyes wide. "What about?"

"Money," admitted the conscience-stricken woman—"money. He wanted me to give him some—a perfectly natural request, wasn't it?—Men have got to have money," she went on, repeating his words, "and I wouldn't give him any. It was brutal in me—I can never forgive myself!"

A look of astonishment crossed Shirley's face.

"You wouldn't give him any money? And he didn't have any when he went away?"

Miriam wept. After a moment she answered:—

"No. My poor Laurie—think of him starving, freezing, perhaps dying!"

Shirley Bloodgood drew a long breath.

"And Colonel Hargraves was robbed," she murmured to herself.

"I don't think you understand," Miriam went on, breaking in upon her thoughts. "Of course I don't believe that Laurie is guilty of the things they charge him with; but he must come back and stand trial and be acquitted—and I must stand by his side through it all." She broke down completely.

"On the evidence they have," Shirley returned, trying to comfort her, "they'll——"

"What's that?" inquired Mrs. Challoner, starting up nervously, in alarm. "It's that horrible bell ringing again," she went on breathlessly. "Don't you hear voices below? Listen—I thought I heard...."

Shirley stole to the door and listened. Presently she called back:—

"Don't worry—whoever it is, Stevens is sending them away!"

"I hope so," sighed Miriam, "for I can't see any one—I won't see any one, unless—Oh, Laurie, Laurie," she cried out, "why don't you come home!"

Suddenly Shirley fell back from the door; it was being stealthily pushed open.

"Oh," she gasped, "it's only Stevens! How you frightened me!"

Stevens stood in the door at attention, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but straight over the heads of the women. He drew a long intake of breath, then he spoke the name:—

"Mr. Challoner."

And hardly were the words out of his mouth than he was thrust aside, and there stood in his place a spare, gaunt, tottering figure—a man dishevelled, soiled, exhausted—James Lawrence Challoner had come home!

At the sound of the name the young wife's face turned pale, and for a moment words failed her. Then all of a sudden she sprang to her feet and rushed to him, crying in an ecstasy of joy:—

"Laurie, Laurie, you've come home to me at last!" And throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him many times, laughing hysterically and crying the while: "You've come back to me!" And once more the freshness of youth, joy and hope were in her voice.

But Challoner, still standing just within the entrance of the room, did not heed her; he cast her off with a frantic sweep of the arm.

"Keep away—keep away from me!" he cried. "I'm tired, dog-tired—I've got to sleep, sleep."

Painful as was the scene, Shirley was keenly alive to what his presence there might mean.

"Stevens," she called, pointing to a window, "pull that curtain down. I pulled it up after they went; pull it down."

Challoner now turned upon her.

"Leave the curtain alone, I tell you," he said, "I don't care if it is up. I don't care about you either—nor you," looking at his wife. "I don't know you. I must have sleep—sleep—sleep."

Deep down in her soul Shirley knew that she should not hear all this, and she would have fled if she had not promised Miriam not to leave her. Suddenly she wheeled upon Stevens as if she and not Miriam were the mistress of the house, exclaiming peremptorily:—

"Stevens, leave the room!"

Stevens obeyed her as he would his mistress, and left the room post haste.

Miriam now went over to the girl.

"You're not going to leave me!" she exclaimed, clinging to her. "You and Laurie are the only friends I have—you must stay here with Laurie and me."

Shirley saw the agony in her face and patted her affectionately as she promised:—

"There, there, Miriam, dear, of course I shall stay." And Miriam, at once reassured, darted back to her husband, and cried:—

"Laurie, dear," kissing him and pushing the hair back from his forehead, "so tired—so tired."

But Challoner, a wolf now and not a man, jerked away from her, and answered:—

"I came home, didn't I? Well, then, I must have sleep, sleep, I tell you, sleep." And tottering over to a dainty silken covered sofa, he threw himself upon it with a deep sigh, saying as though to himself: "Sleep—I must have sleep."

Spellbound, Miriam watched him for a moment, then following him to the sofa, she went down on her knees and drew him to her in a close embrace.

"Everything's all right now that you've come back," she told him in soothing tones. "And, dear, you'll forgive me for quarrelling with you—I'm so sorry, yes, I am, Laurie," kissing him on the lips, the face, the forehead. "Say you'll forgive me, Laurie, dear?"

His answer was a snore. Challoner lay supinely where he had thrown himself, sleeping as does the beast that has crept back to his lair after days of hunting by the man pack.

"Miriam," the whispered name came from Shirley, "you and I, dear, must now think of things. We must not forget that Murgatroyd and his men have only just left. We must not let him lie here; it was lucky they searched the house when they did...."

Miriam waved the other back.

"No," she objected strenuously, "he must sleep; we must let him alone."

"No, no, Miriam," persisted Shirley, putting great emphasis on the words, "we ought to tell him what kind of evidence is against him. He ought to know that. If we didn't warn him in time, he'd never forgive us—he'd never forgive you. He's a man...."

"Perhaps you're right, Shirley—you seem to be always right. Yes, I suppose he ought to know." Gently Miriam shook him, rocked him to and fro upon the sofa, as some fond mother might wake a drowsy, growing boy on a lazy summer morn.

"Lawrence," she cried softly in his ear, "wake up! Wake up, dear, wake up!"

For an instant Challoner stirred. Presently there came in guttural tones:—

"Yes, yes, that's all right...." But he slept, and kept on sleeping.

"I can hardly realise that Laurie is back," murmured Miriam, happily. Unconscious of the other's words, she remained kneeling at the side of the dainty sofa with its far from dainty burden, her arm still about the neck of the man who slept upon it.

"Yes, yes," returned the girl, "but don't you think we had better warn him? He must not be found——"

The other laughed joyously, trying lovingly to smooth out his tangled hair. After a moment she answered absently:—

"They'll find him now, I suppose; but I don't care—I've got him back." She turned and kissed him once again. "My Laurie," she murmured in his ear. Somehow she thought he heard and was glad to hear.

The girl stooped down and caught her by the shoulder.

"But, Miriam," she expostulated, "we must take no chances—we ought to wake him."

Miriam looked up at the girl helplessly.

"You must not stop, Miriam," insisted Shirley, "we must wake him——"

At that instant as they stood clustered about the sleeping thing, the bell once more broke out in feeble clamour. They clung to each other in abject fear.

"The bell!" chorused the women, and stood frozen, silent. They heard Stevens toiling up the stairs; waited; watched the door; finally they saw him enter. Neither of the women spoke, but gazed at him questioningly.

Stevens met their gaze with frightened eyes. At last he found his voice.

"It's the prosecutor's men again, Madam. They've come to——"

"Stevens," interrupted Shirley, "surely you didn't tell them that——"

"Not one word, Miss Bloodgood. But they said they saw him——"

Shirley groaned and pointed to the sofa; Mrs. Challoner rose to her feet and stood before it as if to hide the man upon it.

"You left them outside, Stevens?" Miriam was calm and apparently in full control of herself now.

"One of them—the other forced his way in and sent after the prosecutor."

There was a tap at the door, and the maid, quivering with fear, excitement and indignation, entered, bursting forth with:—

"There's a man coming upstairs, Madam—but I stopped him. He said he'd wait out there on the landing to see you—said he knew Mr. Challoner was in the house and he was going to arrest him."

Challoner continued to sleep noisily.

"Oh, dear, there's nothing to be done, I suppose, but to let the man in." Mrs. Challoner was speaking to Shirley now; and then without waiting for a reply she ordered Foster to show the man up, adding: "I hope he'll wait until Laurie wakes."

Instantly Miriam crossed to the sofa and once more rested her soft, warm face on his, hoping that he could feel the love that she bore for him, then she shook him somewhat roughly.

"Laurie, dear, you must wake up." And then like a flash the thought of resistance crossed her mind. She sprang up with a cry, rushed past Shirley, past Stevens, reached the door, closed it, fumbled for an instant, and finding the key locked it tight.

"No, no," she muttered, "they shan't take him—I won't let them—he belongs to me!"

In a frenzy she piled up the light chairs and tables, and pushed them against the door to form a barricade, crying the while to Stevens: "Help me, quick! We've got to keep them out! We must not let them in, must not...."

Shirley went over to her and caught her in her arms, whispering while she affectionately rested her head on Miriam's shoulder:—

"Don't, dear, don't! We can't help it, don't you see? There's no other way out of it but to let the men come in."

"Of course we can't help it," after a moment Miriam said resignedly, and proceeded to pull the chairs and tables away that she had so vigorously piled up. "Yes, yes, let them in," and wearily fell into a chair.

Stevens unlocked the door, and Mixley entered the room, McGrath following soon after.

"There's no help for it, ma'am," they spoke as one man.

At the sight of them Miriam rushed back to her husband and shook him slightly, speaking his name softly. Then she turned plaintively to the men:—

"If you would only let him sleep—just a little while longer," she said falteringly.

"You must leave him to us, ma'am," spoke up Mixley; and pointing to the far corner of the room, added: "Will you take that chair, there, please? Don't be afraid, ladies," he went on, glancing at Shirley; "we won't hurt the gentleman, see if we do."

And suddenly, together, the men bodily lifted Challoner from the sofa and as suddenly dropped him back again.

At this use of physical force Miriam covered her face with her hands and cried:—

"Don't do that—please don't...."

They desisted, but for quite another reason.

"There's a hump here that we'd best attend to," said Mixley to the other detective, meaningly, running his hand over the outline of Challoner's clothing. "He may not be so sound asleep as he seems to be."

At this juncture Shirley motioned to Stevens to leave the room; the next instant revealed a revolver which they took from Challoner's hip-pocket.

"Is the thing loaded?" queried McGrath. Together they examined it; then simultaneously they glanced in the direction of the women.

"Ma'am—ladies," said Mixley, crossing the room, "we're fair people, and Prosecutor Murgatroyd is fair. You seen us take this here firearm from Mr. Challoner just now, didn't you?"

Miriam and Shirley nodded in acknowledgment. Challoner dropped back into his former position and continued to snore.

Mixley came closer to them and requested that they take a good look at it.

"Don't give it to me," cried Shirley, eluding the outstretched hand and its contents.

"Give it to me," said Miriam, unhesitatingly.

McGrath crowded up.

"You see that there's five chambers loaded, don't you, Mrs. Challoner?"

Mrs. Challoner turned the revolver upside down and looked at it helplessly.

"Five chambers loaded?" she asked innocently, unsuspectingly.

"Here," broke in Mixley, "let me show you." And he counted slowly: "One, two, three, four, five—all full, see?"

"Yes, five chambers," Mrs. Challoner agreed.

There was a pause in which Mixley looked meaningly at McGrath; then he said:—

"And one chamber empty?"

"Oh, yes," she acknowledged almost eagerly, as he placed his finger on it, "there's surely one chamber empty—I see it now."

McGrath hesitated, but Mixley went on:—

"Will you smell it please—just the end of it—the muzzle. What do you smell?"

Mrs. Challoner smiled faintly.

"A Fourth of July smell," she ventured; "gunpowder, of course."

"Burnt powder, exactly, ma'am," they said, and smiled, too. But McGrath had still another card to play.

"Look at this here figure on this here gun, will you, ma'am? Here—there it is. I want you to tell me what it is."

"What is it, Shirley?" asked Miriam, bringing it closer to the light.

Shirley shook her head.

"I'd rather not."

"Please," asked Mrs. Challoner.

Shirley peered at it. Finally she declared:—

"It's '.38,'" touching the gun lightly; "the figures are '.38.'"

Mixley fell back admiringly.

"There now—no one can say we ain't been fair. You saw us take it from him; you examined it; and you told us what you saw. That's fair. You're fair and we're fair—see?"

"Yes. But what of it?" asked Shirley and Miriam in one breath.

McGrath opened his eyes in mock wonder.

"Why bless me, didn't you know? This here Colonel Hargraves was shot by a bullet that came out of a thirty-eight calibre revolver. That's all. We wanted to be fair."

Shirley rubbed vigorously the hand with which she had touched the gun.

"Fair!" she cried bitterly. "And Mr. Murgatroyd sanctions such methods—will use us for evidence—make a case by us?"

But even then Miriam did not understand. She was watching Mixley, who had returned to Challoner; watching Mixley and McGrath, who were lifting Challoner up and dropping him—watching them draw him up to a standing posture and then throw him back again on the sofa, calling the while:—

"Wake up! Wake up!"

"I've got to sleep," was all they could get out of Challoner.

At last, however, a lift and a drop a trifle more vigorous than the preceding ones caused Challoner to open his eyes and look about him. Then he closed them again.

"Are you James Lawrence Challoner?" asked Mixley loudly, peremptorily.

"I am," Challoner answered; "now leave me alone."

And now again the bell; and a moment later Murgatroyd, the prosecutor, stood in the doorway. The heat of much haste was on his brow; he looked neither at Mrs. Challoner nor at Shirley; it was toward Challoner and his men that he directed his gaze.

"Has he talked?" Murgatroyd asked, standing over Challoner.

"No," answered the men, "he ain't awake yet."

"Lift him to his feet," ordered the prosecutor.

The men did so.

And then it was that the women heard him say in a tone that cut into their souls:—

"Challoner, wake up! This is Murgatroyd, prosecutor of the pleas." It was a summons; Challoner obeyed it. He opened his eyes, closed them, yawned stupidly, and then, awake, stood squarely on his feet without any help.

"Hello, Murgatroyd!" he said.

"Challoner," said Murgatroyd severely, "remember that I am not here as your friend—I am the prosecutor, do you hear?"

"I understand," said Challoner.

"Very well then," went on Murgatroyd, "you know why I am here. You are charged—I charge you now, Challoner, with the murder of Colonel Richard Hargraves. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," was Challoner's reply. "You want to take me into custody? All right—only let me sleep when I get there, will you? I——"

"Wait a minute, Challoner," persisted Murgatroyd. "It's my duty to inform you that anything you say will be used against you. You must not forget that I am the prosecutor."

Miriam came forward quickly.

"Oh, Laurie, dear, don't say anything, just yet," she cried in alarm.

Shirley seconded her warning, saying quickly:—

"Don't say a word to Mr. Murgatroyd until you have seen a lawyer."

Challoner, still sullen, looked over his shoulder at his wife.

"Who's saying all this? Only a lot of women—what do they know?" And turning back to Murgatroyd: "See here, Murgatroyd, let's get this straight, shall we?" And he looked him full in the eye. "You're the prosecutor—and anything I say will be used against me. Is that right? Well, this little matter is just as simple as A, B, C." And suddenly drawing himself up to his full height, he went on in a loud, clear voice:—

"I waited for Richard Hargraves with——"

"I warned you," cried Murgatroyd, stretching forth a hand.

Challoner scornfully refused to listen.

"... and when I found him—" he glanced about him defiantly and gave an imitation of a man taking aim and shooting. "There, now, you know the facts."

Murgatroyd turned to his two men.

"It's a case of wilful, deliberate, premeditated murder—murder in the first degree. Take him away!"

Shirley was on her feet in an instant.

"Oh, Mr. Challoner," she cried, springing forward, "why did you tell him?"

"Come on!" Challoner called out gruffly to the men. "Take me away!" He did not even glance at his wife, who clung to the girl, and sobbed on her breast.

The prosecutor nodded to his subordinates, and immediately they seized Challoner by the arm and started toward the door.

"No, no," cried Miriam, tearing herself from Shirley's hold, "don't take him away!" And again and again with all the force left in her: "No! No! No!—Oh, Laurie!—--"

The doors closed behind the men. Then Miriam sank down upon the soiled sofa where he had lain, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

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