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from?"
"His contracts with the French Government," I replied.
"But I happen to know he didn't land those contracts. That's the reason
he beat it so suddenly when we got into the war." He tossed his
cigarette into the fire.
"His salary from the French, then. They must have paid him some kind
of salary."
"Have you never heard what ridiculously small salaries the French
Government pays its officers?"
It was true that Woods could never have lived as he did on ten times

the salary of a French captain.
"His own private fortune then," I suggested.
"Ah! There's the point! If he has a private fortune, then my whole case
falls to pieces. That's what I've got to find out. Woods has been playing
for a big stake, and I think he has been playing with other people's
money. Did you notice how he flushed this afternoon when I suggested
looking into his private affairs? It was the veriest accident--I was
stalling for time--but when I saw him color up I knew I'd touched a sore
spot. No, Bupps, I don't think Woods has a private fortune."
"But even if you show him up as worthless, will Helen come back to
you, Jim?"
The color came to his face and he laughed with a queer twist to his
mouth.
"Am I as horrible as all that, Bupps?"
His words brought a lump to my throat. I went over to him and almost
hugged him.
"Jim, you're such a peach--dammit all--"
I heard a light step behind me.
"Oh, Bupps!" laughed Mary, "if you'd only make love to me in that
ardent fashion, I'd drag you to the altar by your few remaining hairs."
I stood up, blushing in spite of myself. She can always make me feel
that whatever I am doing is either stupid or foolish.
"Dinner is served, and I'm starving. Come on, people!" she announced,
leading the way to the dining-room.
"Where's Helen?" I asked.
"She's not coming down. She has a slight headache," Mary answered,

giving me a warning look. "I am delegated to be lady of the manor this
evening." She looked so adorable as she curtsied to us that I felt an
almost uncontrollable impulse to grab her in my arms and smother her
with kisses, but remembering what she had done to me once when I
yielded to impulse, I refrained.
When we sat down to the table, Helen's empty place threatened to cast
a gloom over the party, so Mary told Wicks to remove it.
"It's too much like Banquo's ghost," she whispered, laughing merrily at
Jim.
"Speaking of ghosts," said Jim turning to me, "I hear the labor people
are asking the governor to pardon Zalnitch."
"A lot of good it will do them," I responded. "If ever a man deserved
hanging, he does."
"I know, but labor is awfully strong now, and with the unsettled social
conditions in the state, a bigger man than Governor Fallon might find it
expedient to let Zalnitch off."
"Who is Zalnitch? Don't think I've met the gentleman," Mary said.
"He's the Russian who was supposed to be the ring-leader of the gang
that blew up the Yellow Funnel steamship piers in 1915," I explained.
"Do you mean to say he hasn't been hanged yet?"
"Yes!" Jim answered. "And what's more, I'm afraid he's going to be
pardoned."
"Not really, Jim?" I queried.
"Yes! I'm almost sure of it. Fallon is a machine man before everything
else, although he was elected on a pro-American ticket. They are
threatening to do all kinds of things to him, just as they threatened me,
unless Zalnitch goes free, and I think Fallon is afraid of them, not
physically perhaps, but politically. He wants reelection."

Jim had helped the prosecuting attorney convict Zalnitch; in fact it was
Jim's work more than anything else that had sent the Russian to prison.
At the time, Jim had received a lot of threatening letters, just as every
other American who denounced the Germans before we entered the war
had received them. Nothing had come of it, of course, and after we
went in, the whole matter dropped from public attention. Zalnitch had
been sent to prison, but his friends had worked constantly for
commutation of his sentence. With labor's new power, due to the fear
of Bolshevism, they were again bringing influence to bear on the
governor.
Wicks had removed the soup plates and was bringing in the roast, when
Annie appeared. The girl was both frightened and angry.
"Mr. Felderson?"
Jim looked up. "What is it, Annie?"
"Will you come up-stairs, please, sir?"
Mary pushed back her chair, "I'll go, Jim."
"It's Mr. Felderson that's wanted," Annie said with just a touch of
asperity.
"Yes, you two better stay here and amuse each