covered. He glanced a moment out of the corner of his eye at Maude
Euston, but said nothing.

It was a terrible situation. Had Lane really been in it? That
question was overshadowed by the mention of her father.
Impulsively she turned to Craig.

"Oh, save him!" she cried. "Can't anything be done to save my
father in spite of himself?"

"It is too late," mocked Mrs. Labret. "People will read the
account of the robbery in the papers, even if it didn't take
place. They will see it before they see a denial. Orders will
flood in to sell the stock. No; it can't be stopped."

Kennedy glanced momentarily at me.

"Is there still time to catch the last morning edition of the
Star, Walter?" he asked, quietly. I glanced at my watch.

"We may try. It's possible."

"Write a despatch--an accident to the engine--train delayed--now
proceeding--anything. Here, Dugan, you keep them covered. Shoot to
kill if there's a move."

Kennedy had begun feverishly setting up the part of the apparatus
which he had brought after Whiting had set up his.

"What can you do?" hissed Mrs. Labret. "You can't get word