“Have you ever tried to make your father understand all this?” “Oh, you are hard--bitter hard!” she broke out passionately. “I did try at first, but my father said it wasn’t in human nature. And how could I hope to make him believe it when he was so thoroughly convinced of Mr. Brant’s guilt?” “None the less, you have it to do. You must convince him, and persuade him to come down to the office with Harry to-night. Luckily, I can help you a little. It so happened that I went to see Brant the same day you saw him. I was with him in less than half an hour after you left him. In that talk I came within one word of making him admit to me that he wasn’t guilty, and also of making him confess that he believed Will did the shooting. Shall I tell you how I know this?” “If you must--if you will.” “I had told him that it wasn’t any use to try to keep up the fiction; that the truth would all come out at the trial; that the court would appoint a lawyer to defend him, and that any counsel he might have, save and excepting only your father, would break your brother’s testimony down in five minutes. Do you know what he did when I told him this?” “No.” “He sat down and scribbled a note for me to take to Forsyth. In that note he told Forsyth that he had reconsidered; that he would accept your father as his counsel. He believed it was the only way to save your brother from a cross-examination which would undo what he was staking his life to do. That is all.” They had reached the Hollywood gate, and he opened it for her, and when she stood beyond it, lifted his hat. “I hope I haven’t said too much, or asked too much, Miss Langford.” She came close to the gate, and he could see her eyes shining in the twilight. “No, you haven’t said too much, and you haven’t asked too much. I shall go down on my knees to my father, Mr. Jarvis, and--and as God helps me, he shall go to you believing as we do. And for yourself--” But he was gone before she could thank him. CHAPTER XXXV THE WISDOM OF MANY AND THE WIT OF ONE IT was quite dark when the reporter left the Langford gate and set out at a rapid walk toward the nearest street-car corner. As he was turning out of Altamont Terrace a four-wheeler with two men on the box swung into the curving street of the suburb from the boulevard. Jarvis gave a shrill whistle, and the carriage drew up at the curb. “Is that you, Jarvis?” said Antrim, from his seat beside the driver. “Yes. You’re ’way too early; they haven’t been to dinner yet.” “Did you see her?” “Sure.” “Can she do it?” “She knows she’s got to do it.” “Good enough; I’ll go on up to the house and help her.” Jarvis reached up, felt in Antrim’s vest pocket, found a cigar, and coolly purloined it. “Begging your pardon, you will do nothing of the kind, _savez vous_? That little battle is one she will have to fight for herself. You go away and kill time for an hour and then come back.”