A half-hour later, while Layne was dozing in a corner of the superheated waiting-room, Tregarvon came in with his message to the Dallas chief of police. This time there was no effort made to keep the talk from being overheard. “I’m mighty sorry, Mr. Tregarvon, but I can’t get it off to-night,” was the operator’s deprecatory protest when the message was handed in. “The commercial wires are grounded--been that way all the evening. Mighty sorry, but these things will happen once in a while. Yes; sure! first thing in the morning, if I have to put it through the despatcher’s office. Good night.” XXXI On Pisgah’s Height Professor William Wilberforce Hartridge was reading before the cheerful grate fire in his sitting-room when his visitor was brought up by the old negro janitor. “Come in, Mr. Tregarvon, and be at home,” he said, rising, with the aid of his crutch, for the welcoming, and making difficult work of it. “Draw your chair to the fire and be comfortable. It was kind of you to----” “Carfax brought me your message,” Tregarvon interrupted, rather more brusquely than he meant to. “In a certain sense I suppose I am responsible for your present condition, and since you wished to see me----” “Ah, yes; but I didn’t wish to give myself the opportunity of reproaching you for the accident, I assure you,” was the deprecatory rejoinder. “You were not even constructively to blame for my cowardly legs.” Then he added, with a touch of naïve humor: “I trust they have sufficiently learned their lesson.” “You are having a pretty long siege of it,” Tregarvon offered, finding himself sympathizing where he had meant to be coldly self-contained. “Old bones,” returned the schoolmaster, with his quaint smile. “They haven’t knitted quite as rapidly as they might. But let us hope that there is nothing worse than broken bones in store for any of us. May I be very frank with you, Mr. Tregarvon?” “I shall set you the example. I can conceive of only one reason why you should wish to see me, Mr. Hartridge. You have been told that I am still determined to exact an eye for an eye in the matter of bringing certain criminals to justice, and you would like to forestall your arrest as an accessory. Am I right?” At this the quaint smile became quizzical. “Partly; but only partly. Have you taken any steps as yet?” “I have. After a good bit of trouble and expense I have at last succeeded in tracing the man Morgan McNabb. He is under arrest in Dallas, Texas, and I shall have him brought back as soon as the necessary papers can be obtained.” “And your object in bringing him back?” “Is to make him give the name of the man who hired him to put the dynamite under my drilling plant. That man is going to the penitentiary, Mr. Hartridge, if any effort of mine can send him there.” The schoolmaster removed his spectacles to polish them, and for a time sat staring with unshielded eyes into the heart of the coal fire in the grate.