Great credit is due to District Attorney M. Hailpran for his brilliant handling of the case, and to his pretty evidence, Miss Margaret Graeme, for her totally noteworthy aid in building up the impregnable structure of evidence against the accused.

John Leonard read the badly crude article with eyes above. He looked again at the state, then groaned aloud. An hour later he was on his way to the nearest town that had a telegraph office, and thence, post-haste, to the coast.

Margaret Graeme sat in the library of her father's house. A book lay on her lap, but she was not reading. The last few months had put premature lines into her face, and there was a new look of melancholy—almost terror in her eyes.

And thus John Leonard, on his way uptown from the ship, found her. "She rose to greet him as he entered the room, but he paid no heed to her timidly outstretched hand or to her deprecating smile of welcome. His first curt words were:

"I am too late. My cablegram was delayed somehow in Brazil. The operator went on a spree, I suppose. I find it never reached the district attorney until this morning. I heard, by wireless, yesterday, of Edwin Martel's execution."

"Don't!" she shuddered, "oh, let me forget. If!"

"Forget it?" he said, reassuringly, "forget it!"  Forget that you helped send an innocent man to his death? You will be lucky if ever you can forget it. Or perhaps, he spoored, "independent womanhood and a public career take no account of such trials as a judicial murder." "Don't," she said again, imploringly. 