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I.”
    â€œYou?” He stared at her and she nodded.
    â€œYes, I. You see, after the way you spoke to me at the track the other day, I was afraid that you’d do something to spoil my plan. I almost told you what I was doing. Then Custis came up behind us and I was afraid, so I had three of my barn men kidnap you. The house where they held you is one that I’ve been living in this winter. I moved to the hotel that night. But you’re not going to make a charge against me—are you, Bill?”
    Lennox chuckled softly. “You’re swell, Kid.” Then he sobered. “I’m sorry about Bert. It’s tough, and I’m afraid they won’t get Custis on a murder for Jarney. They’ll get him, yes, on a gambling charge of some kind, but murder—” He shook his head. “I talked to the D.A. after you were through. They haven’t enough evidence. They’ll probably let him make a plea of some kind.”
    The girl’s face set and he feared for a moment that she was going to cry, but no tears came. He said: “If I can help you, Kid—”
    One of her small hands closed over his. “You can, Bill. Have dinner with me tonight. I feel so terribly alone.”
    He said, “Sure,” and opened the door as the cab stopped in front of the hotel. Half an hour later, over coffee in one corner of the large dining-room, he asked, “What will you do now?”
    She moved her shoulders. “Sell the stable. I’m sick of it, Bill. It killed Bert because he was too honest. I hung on, hoping for a chance to even things up. There’s a boy in New York. He didn’t understand why I kept on and I couldn’t explain. I was afraid he’d get mixed up in things.”
    Lennox nodded. He was liking her better all the time. “So what?”
    She said: “I’m going to sell out and go East. I want to see if it’s too late.”
    â€œIt won’t be,” he told her, “not if—” He turned as a page came into the dining-room, his voice sounding clearly above the chatter:
    â€œCalling Mr. Lennox. Calling Mr. William Lennox.”
    Bill said, “Here, boy,” and raised his finger.
    The page turned and came to the table. “You’re wanted on the phone.”
    Lennox slipped a quarter into his hand and rose. “Excuse me a moment.” He left the dining-room and walked to the row of phone booths. Spellman’s voice reached him over the wire.
    â€œThought I’d catch you there. Saw you getting into the cab with the jane. She’s not bad looking.”
    Lennox said sourly, “Did you call me up to say that?”
    The detective captain laughed dryly. “I called you to tell you that your boy friend isn’t any more. They got him as he came out of the building, got one of the guards in the shoulder at the same time. Thought you’d like to know.”
    Lennox said, “Custis?” with surprise.
    â€œWho do you think I’m talking about? Santa Claus? You wouldn’t have any idea who got him, would you?”
    Lennox’s voice was flat, final. “I wouldn’t.”
    â€œNow, now,” Spellman began, but Lennox hung up. Before he got back to the dining-room he heard, behind him, the bellboy calling again:
    â€œMr. Lennox. Paging Mr. Lennox.”
    That would be Spellman, calling back, Bill knew, and paid no attention. Betty Donovan looked up inquiringly as he reached the table.
    â€œWhat was it?” Her voice was nervous.
    He said, softly, “Someone shot Custis as he was leaving the D.A.’s office. You can forget him, Kid. Your brother’s debt is paid.”
    She was silent a long time, said finally, “I wonder who got him?”
    Lennox shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, and I don’t care. One of the boys he’d been playing with, probably, one of those he told to bet on your horse. They probably figured he’d crossed