Antrim took a car and left it at the corner nearest the telegraph office. Ten steps from the crossing he ran upon Jarvis, and the reporter began forthwith to ransack him for details in Brant’s affair. Antrim set his teeth upon a resolve to tell nothing, and ended by telling all he knew, salving his conscience by reasserting his belief in Brant’s innocence. “Right there is where I am stuck myself, but I am going to settle that point before I’m an hour older,” quoth the reporter, adding, “You may come along and help, if you want to.” “Settle it?” echoed Antrim. “How can anybody do that?” “You stay right with me and I’ll show you.” They went on together, first to the Western Union office, that Antrim might do his errand, and then to the Osirian. On the way to the clubhouse Jarvis stopped short and smote his thigh. “By Jupiter, Harry, but your part of the story turns on an oxy-hydrogen side light that beats the moon! I’ll bet a gold mine to an Indian cayuse that I’ve got the whole play down pat. Here is the layout: He is soft on the girl; he goes on a still hunt for the girl’s brother; he catches his Toughness killing him a man for breakfast, and coolly steps into Mr. Brother’s shoes--all for the sake of the girl. That is George Brant to a hair, if I’m any judge of my kind. Come on till I prove it to you like twice two.” Antrim went aghast at the bare possibility, but he held his peace and followed Jarvis blindly. The reporter’s calling procured them ready admission to the exclusive palace of Chance, and they found the room on the second floor untenanted, as it was sure to be. Jarvis posted his companion near the door and in line with the end of the table where Brant must have stood. Then he placed the chairs on either side of the table, about where they were when Harding and Langford had sat in them. The stage set, he began his demonstration: “Now, we know that Harding was hit on the side of his face nearest to you, but that proves nothing more than that he might have turned away just at the moment of the firing. But if you will hold the end of this tape, I’ll show you that Brant couldn’t have fired that shot from your end of the table, unless it turned a corner in Harding’s head.” He unwound the tape, gave one end of it to Antrim, and drew it taut as nearly as might be through the space where the murdered man’s head must have been. That done, he turned and stared blankly at his assistant. “What is it?” Antrim demanded. “B’gosh, I’ve proved too much!” said the reporter. “Can’t you see? The bullet that made this hole in the wall was fired from about where you stand. By Jove! that lets young Langford out, but say, it puts Brant in head over ears!” Antrim dropped his end of the tape and thrust his hands into his pockets. “Just the same, I don’t believe it,” he said doggedly. “And, what’s more, I never will until Brant admits it himself.”