arrival with warmth. Exchanging a word of greeting with Mrs.
Brewster, McIntyre drew up a chair and dropped into it.

"I called at your office, doctor," he said. "Went there at once on
learning the shocking news about poor Turnbull. Why in the world
didn't he announce who he was when my daughter had him arrested as
a burglar? He must have realized that prolonged excitement was bad
for his weak heart."

Mrs. Brewster, who had settled herself more comfortably in her corner
of the sofa on McIntyre's arrival, answered his remark.

"I only knew Jimmie superficially," she said, "but he had one
distinguishing trait patent to all, his inordinate fondness for
practical jokes. Probably the predicament he found himself in
was highly to his taste - until his heart failed."

Her voice, slightly raised, carried across the room and reached the
ears of a tall, slender girl who had stood hesitating on the
threshold of the dining worn door on beholding the group by the
sofa. All hesitation vanished, however, as the meaning of Mrs.
Brewster's remark dawned on her, and she walked over to the sofa.

"You are very unjust, Margaret," she stated, and at sound of her
low triante voice McIntyre whirled around and frowned slightly.
"Jimmie was thinking of the predicament of others, not of himself."

"What do you mean, Helen?" her father demanded.

"Why, how could Jimmie reveal his identity in court without