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 started home and was about a block from his quiet residence when two bold, bad persons unknown—absolutely unknown—shot him."

"That's to be the story!"

"That is the story. Of course, if the Royle girl could swear that she recognized Baretta at the ditch—"

"Miss Royle," interrupted Calvin, "did not recognize him, so she will swear only to what already has been stated."

"Then," said Ellison, regarding Calvin with increased wonder, "their story probably will stick. The waiting world will likely always lack legal assertion as to the identity of the person Miss Royle shot. The Temple gang have to deny that Baretta was at the ditch in order to protect themselves. None of them knew anything about the district of the ditch. Is there such a place west? It is a complete surprise to them. However, the late lamented's personal difficulty over Adele Ketlar has become considerably less confidential—George being reliably deceased."

"How about the jury?" asked Calvin.

"Dutifully deliberating. You surely lashed that Greek to the mast of the ship of state," Ellison recollected, admiringly. "We were wrong, but on the evidence in court—for you know, Calvin, that the Royle girl, I mean Miss Royle, was gorgeously lying—we ought to have a conviction. Anyway, you inspired that Greek, at least, with the good old American sentiment. He'll die but never surrender. Of course, we've nothing to send to the jury; but Ketlar has heard the cheery word of new developments."

"His mother," reminded Calvin. "Somebody ought to see her."

"She's been seen," assured Ellison. "There's nothing to the case any more. A little hard work, now, will put