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REGG turned away and walked to the window in an effort to think quickly and clearly; but he did not succeed well. "I don't know yet; we haven't got to say it yet, Marjorie. When we have to, you'd better not depend on me," Gregg admitted, when he turned back. "I've bungled about everything to-night; but we won't muddle this along any further. Before we say anything now, we have to think of more than your mother and your own people; we have to figure out something that will stick with business men—with men like Mr. Stanway, especially, and with the newspapers, maybe, and with the police. I don't fool myself that I'm competent to get that up; Bill's not; you can't, Marjorie. Whoever does it has to be able to think of a thousand things that can't possibly come into our minds now. He has to have experience; he's got to be an expert. And there are experts in these things; with lots of experience. That's why more things like this never come out; that's why this won't come out. Bill, you're a lawyer; and it's a lawyer who fixes everything. Who's the best man in Chicago to fix this?"

"Best man?" Billy parroted, dazed.

"He means the worst man in Chicago, Billy," Marjorie explained, compassionately almost, as though it were Billy, not she, who was suffering. "He means who's the lowest lawyer you know, Billy; or the lowest