"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp another
before the day's out?" Yetsko whispered.

Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the Spanish
Inquisition, that we had to discontinue?"

It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had been
flickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby's
wanted-at-office signal.

* * * * *

Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his private
office. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but the
innocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one of
the new Mexican _charro_-style jackets, black laced with silver.

"I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached.
"Are you alone?"

"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added:
"Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that he
wouldn't know all about?"

Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyed
the impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin. He
spoke at some length, describing the fight between Chester Pelton and
Stephen S. Bayne, the Literate strike at Pelton's Purchasers'
Paradise, Pelton's heart attack, and the circumstances of Claire's
opening the safe. "So you see," he finished. "Maybe Latterman tried to