The hound of death

He stood still, his head whirling. It was impossible - impossible - Yet, Romaine Heilger was an actress.

The K.C. came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Congratulated our man yet? He's had a narrow shave, you know. Come along and see him."

But the little lawyer shook off the other's hand.

He wanted one thing only - to see Romaine Heilger face to face.

He did not see her until some time later, and the place of their meeting is not relevant.

"So you guessed," she said, when he had told her all that was in his mind. "The face? Oh! that was easy enough, and the light of that gas jet was too bad for you to see the makeup."

"But why - why -"

"Why did I play a lone hand?" She smiled a little, remembering the last time she had used the words.

"Such an elaborate comedy!"

"My friend - I had to save him. The evidence of a woman devoted to him would not have been enough - you hinted as much yourself. But I know something of the psychology of crowds. Let my evidence be wrung from me, as an admission, damning me in the eyes of the law, and a reaction in favor of the prisoner would immediately set in."

"And the bundle of letters?"

"One alone, the vital one, might have seemed like a - what do you call it? - put-up job."

"Then the man called Max?"

"Never existed, my friend."

"I still think," said little Mr Mayherne, in an aggrieved manner, "that we could have got him off by the - er - normal procedure."

"I dared not risk it. You see you thought he was innocent -"

"And you knew it? I see," said little Mr Mayherne.

"My dear Mr Mayherne," said Romaine, "you do not see at all. I knew - he was guilty!"

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