explanation."

Mr. Trevor picked up the paper and struck it.

"Do you refuse to say anything in the face of such evidence as that?" he
cried.

"It is not a matter for refusal, Mr. Trevor. It is simply that I cannot
admit the possibility of having committed the crime."

"Well, sir," said the senator, his black necktie working out of place as
his anger got the better of him, "I am to believe, then, because you
claim to be the author of a few society novels, that you are infallible?
Let me tell you that the President of the United States himself is liable
to impeachment, and bound to disprove any charge he may be accused of.
What in Halifax do I care for your divine-right-of-authors theory? I'll
continue to think you guilty until you are shown to be innocent."

Suddenly the full significance of the Celebrity's tactics struck Mr.
Cooke, and he reached out and caught hold of Mr. Trevor's coattails.
"Hold on, old man," said he; "Allen isn't going to be ass enough to own
up to it. Don't you see we'd all be jugged and fined for assisting a
criminal over the border? It's out of consideration for us."

Mr. Trevor looked sternly over his shoulder at Mr. Cooke.

"Do you mean to say, sir, seriously," he asked, "that, for the sake of a
misplaced friendship for this man, and a misplaced sense of honor, you
are bound to shield a guest, though a criminal? That you intend to
assist him to escape from justice? I insist, for my own protection and