"Are they going to----?" "I don't know, I don't know." Tears welled up in Mary's eyes. "Oh, Warren, that man was terrible!" "What man?" I asked. "The man who asked me all the questions," Mary sobbed. "There wasn't anything he didn't ask me." "Did he ask you about the conversation between Helen and Jim?" "He asked me everything, I tell you!" Mary exclaimed angrily. "He twisted and turned everything I said into something horrible." Discouraged, I led the way to the car. I drove out into the country, thinking the fresh air might quiet Mary's nerves. Twice I tried to start a conversation about some trivial thing, to take her mind off her unpleasant experience of the afternoon, but with no success. It always came back to the jury room. Our drive, for the most part, was a silent one. At length we turned back and as we walked up the steps of Mary's home, her father came from the house with a newspaper in his hand. "This is terrible, Warren." "What is it?" I cried, reaching for the sheet. It was an extra edition of _The Press_, our only respectable paper. In black head-lines, I read the words: "SOCIETY LEADER INDICTED FOR HUSBAND'S MURDER!" Then underneath in small type: "Frank Woods, Well Known Business Man, Released on $10,000 Bail." Helen and Frank Woods had both been indicted. CHAPTER TWELVE WHO AM I I jumped into the automobile and drove as fast as I could to the offices of Simpson and Todd, the best criminal lawyers in the state, to retain them as council for Helen. Simpson had already gone home, but George Todd was there, and I talked the case over with him. "You can get a stay of proceedings, can't you?" I asked. "Surely," he replied. "I'll see that the warrant isn't served until Mrs. Felderson's doctor assures me she is out of danger. The trial needn't come off for three or four months--six if you wish. We can see to that. In the meantime, when will you be able to see Mrs. Felderson?" "I was going up there now," I answered. "The chances are the doctor won't let me question her yet, but it may be we can see her. Will you come with me?" "I'd like very much to. Wait till I get my coat!" We ran up to the hospital and asked if we could be admitted if only for a few moments to Mrs. Felderson's room. Johnson, the little interne with the glasses, had just come in, and when he heard my request he was splutteringly indignant. "What the devil do you think Mrs. Felderson is suffering from, a broken ankle? Don't you realize she has been desperately ill? If you tried to question her now, she'd become excited and it might result in a serious relapse. Of course you can't see her! You won't be able to talk to her for two or three weeks yet." "I'm sorry," I said, "I should have known better. It was stupid of me, but then, I've been little else than stupid for days. This tragedy has been too much for me. You will let me know as soon as she can be seen, won't you, Johnson?"