"We heard everything he said " he cried. His voice rose in torment.
"An' we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta
knowed he'd act. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human;
he's a -- gilded saint!"

Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the
floor the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she
snatched a piece of crumpled paper.

"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this."
In a voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger,
she read aloud:

" 'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth
and called up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone.
Your brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the
children and they are now going to the Hippodrome.

"Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room,
but they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a
stenographer. He is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs
of a dictagraph. Looks like you'd better watch your step and not
say nothing you don't want Tammany to print.'" The voice of Mrs.
Earle rose in a shrill shriek.

"Him--a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he was
talking into a dictagraph all the time, and he double- crossed us!"