suppose she came here to get straightened out. I hadn't been able
to get her on the wire to-day, but at the theatre when I called up
they told me what had happened, and I came right over here. Now
please remember, do everything, anything but create a scandal. You
realise what that would mean for me."

Kennedy said nothing. He simply laid down on the desk, piece by
piece, the torn letter which he had picked up from the basket, and
beside it he spread out the reply which Blanche had written.

"What?" gasped Collins as he read the torn letter. "I send that?
Why, man alive, you're crazy. Didn't I just tell you I hadn't
heard from her until I called up the theatre just now?"

I could not make out whether he was lying or not when he said that
he had not sent the note. Kennedy picked up a pen. "Please write
the same thing as you read in the note on this sheet of the
Novella paper. It will be all right. You have plenty of witnesses
to that."

It must have irked Collins even to have his word doubted, but
Kennedy was no respecter of persons. He took the pen and wrote.

"I'll keep your name out of it as much as possible," remarked
Kennedy, glancing intently at the writing and blotting it.

"Thank you," said Collins simply, for once in his life at a loss
for words. Once more he whispered to O'Connor, then he excused
himself. The man was so obviously sincere, I felt, as far as his
selfish and sensual limitations would permit, that I would not