"But," I said, "I don't want him tried at all. I want him released now.

Isn't there some way to accomplish that?"

Harvey thought a little longer and finally said he would arrange it. He was to go at once to the jail and unveil his scheme to "Edgerly," and afterwards turn up about noon at the district attorney's office.

As the clocks were striking twelve I met Daly on the steps of the courthouse. He complimented me on my promptness, with a keen look that showed he scented his prey. As we were entering the room of the dispenser of justice, Hume came along and addressed me.

"I say, Camran," he remarked, careful that Daly should hear every word, "I am engaged to appear for a poor chap who is up for raising a check of yours. I was just going in to see the district attorney. I must say, the man seems as innocent of wrong as any fellow I ever met."

"Will you kindly introduce me to this gentleman?" asked Daly of me.

When this was done, he informed Hume that Hazen was a well known sharper and that in the present case there was no doubt whatever of his guilt.

"Mr. Camran gave him a check for $350 to settle the balance of a game of cards that I will swear was a swindle, for I watched it; and when the check was brought into the bank it had been raised to $3500. Luckily I got word that the check had been given in time to put the bank people on their guard by cable and he was arrested on the spot."

"Is this true?" asked the lawyer, of me.

"I don't know," I responded, carelessly. "I gave him a check--certainly--but for what amount I am absolutely unable to swear. I was confused at the time--a little put out, naturally--"

Daly was surveying me with a look of rage.

"So you're going to throw it up, are you?" he asked, gutturally. "And one of the prettiest cases I ever worked on, too."

"I will mail you the amount of your bill this afternoon," I said, impudently.

"The amount of my--" he repeated, dolefully. "Yes; but the gain to my reputation that would have resulted--who will compensate me for that?

Gad, I'll never take hold of another case that has a woman in it! They can knock over the best of us. You can let your check-raiser go, for all of me," he said to the district attorney, as that gentleman came to the threshold. "The evidence seems to have petered out."

Mr. Hume and I talked the matter over with the official, explained the part he took in the affair, and it was arranged that the case would not be brought before the Grand Jury at all.

"I want to say I think you've played it a little low down on a man that interfered to save your life," said Daly to me, as he left the building.

"But I'll watch for that fellow and you can bet I'll get him on something yet before he dies."

I had no wish to argue with him. He was undoubtedly right, from his standpoint.

It was enough for me to know I had succeeded in accomplishing what would put the roses into Marjorie's cheeks once more.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"I PRESSED THEM TO MY LIPS."

I was very lonesome for a few weeks after my return. This it was that took me so often to the house occupied by the Bartons. Tom was immensely glad to see me, at all times, and Statia, though still very sober in my society, began to treat me with her old kindness.

One day, when Hazen was out of jail, and undoubtedly far away from the city, I asked Statia if she would like to hear a diary of my journey to the West Indies. She hesitated a little, saying finally that her answer would depend a great deal on what the diary contained. I told her how I had put the entire affair, from the beginning, into shape for publication and what I wanted was her opinion of my scheme. While there were many things that might not reflect great credit on me, there was nothing, I believed, that it would be improper for her to hear. She thought a little longer and then asked if she might not read it for herself instead of having it read to her. I accepted the amendment, being in fact glad she suggested it, and brought Miss May's MS. to her the very next morning.

When a couple of days had pa.s.sed Tom dropped in to say that his sister would like to see me, if I found it convenient to run over. In another hour I was in her presence. She met me with a frown on her pretty face and stood for a minute regarding me silently.

"Don, have you told the whole truth in that ma.n.u.script?" she asked, then.

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me!" I responded with upraised hand.

"It is an awful avowal, take it altogether," she said, soberly. "I almost wish you had not brought it to me. I never shall feel quite the same after this. How could a woman of that description so affect a man like you?"

"I am not going to discuss that," I answered. "Is it worth publishing, that's the point? I have altered every name, you see, so no one not in the secret will recognize a single person involved. It's a rather unusual collection of occurrences, don't you think?"

She a.s.sented with a nod to the last proposition, and said as for the literary "market" she supposed in its present state it was not over squeamish.

"The success of the season is 'Quo Vadis,'" she added, "and I wasn't able to read half of it. There is at least a lesson to be learned from this experience of yours, if men will only heed the warnings."

"Thank you," I said, with polite irony, though I didn't agree with her about Sienkiewicz' great work. "Can you think of anything I might add, to round out the tale, as it were?"

A flush came into her face and a slight smile to the corners of her mouth.

"Yes. You might say that 'Statia' admitted to you afterwards that the letters signed 'Alice Brazier' were her own, copied by a friend in the handwriting of the latter and sent from her residence."

My surprise, which was complete, turned the smile into a little laugh at my expense.

"And you might say also," she continued, "that during your absence with 'Marjorie,' your friend 'Tom's' sister was taking lessons in typewriting and became quite proficient in that art. And that she told you, whenever you wanted to take another journey, and needed a.s.sistance in literary work, she would apply for the position rather than have you made the victim of any designing creature of her s.e.x."

"Statia!" I cried, "you have entirely forgiven me?"

"Entirely," she said. "I couldn't wish you any greater punishment than you have endured."

A month pa.s.sed and one day a box addressed to me was brought to my door by an expressman, with the charges prepaid from some point beyond the Rockies. Wonderingly I saw it opened and then, at the first glance into the interior, I told the boy who plied the hammer that I would unpack it myself.

It contained the entire outfit that "Marjorie" had bought with my money--the jewelry included.

There were the hats which had adorned her fair head; the gowns that had been draped around her graceful body; the shoes, the hosiery, the lingerie--everything!

I took them out slowly, one by one. I pressed them to my lips, letting teardrops fall on each separate article. I could only think of what I had lost--of what, in truth, I had never gained. I put the articles away, finally, locking them securely from all prying eyes.

This little note was found in the box, pinned to a scarf:

My Dear Friend:--Although you told me you did not want to take your things back, I shall feel better to send them to you. It leaves me in your debt only for the other expenses of my voyage, and perhaps the typewriting I did will in some measure compensate for that. Long ago you must have recovered from the tender sentiment with which you used to insist I inspired you, and I hope have also learned to think of me with less aversion than you felt at the last. If I might be permitted to give advice it would be offer your hand and heart to 'Statia Barton.' You need a wife; I am sure, she would make an excellent one.

Farewell; this time, forever!

M.M.

Recovered from my love for you? Not yet, Marjorie, not yet. That will come in time, I trust, but it is still too soon.

Offer my hand to Statia? I would not insult that n.o.ble girl again with such a worthless gift. As for my heart, it has not come back to me, and I do not know as it ever will.

"Well," said Mr. Cook, the senior partner of the Dillingham Company, as I signed the contract which gave him the right to publish this "novel,"--"you've had what the doctor prescribed, at least."