'No, no. It doesn't seem likely. Why should he?'

'I can't say. God knows! But there is somebody. If I only knew the
man--if I only had him under my hand!

Harry's face became grey through the tan; he sat forward in his chair,
with a sinewy arm thrust down between his knees, and his hand closed as
if upon a throat. His mother touched his shoulder.

'Violence can only work mischief, my boy. Use what intelligence you
have--only that can help. If we can save poor Frank and clear his name,
we may leave vengeance to the law.'

'Yes, mother, you are right, but I am no saint. I hate my enemies, an' it
is maddening not to know who you hate--who to hit at.'

'That may be so, Henry, but passion will only blind you. If you are not
cool you will fail. Remember, the true culprits may be near you while you
are seeking; do nothing to set them on their guard. You may learn much
from the men. They are all Frank's friends, even those who believe him
guilty.'

'Believe him guilty!

'O, my boy, my boy! You would want to fight them all. It is folly. The
evidence did not leave room for a doubt as to his guilt, and these men
have their own ideas as to the morality of such crimes. Many of them
think none the worse of a man who helps himself to a nugget that he may
find on his shovel.'