Dean ran recklessly forward. Daley, confused at his strange proceedings, yet suspicious and alarmed, stumbled after him. Overhead suddenly sounded footsteps and alarmed voices. Crash! Dean Mercer came to the floor with a shock. He was pinned there, held there by some heavy object. A light glowed in the hall, then in the next room. He made out Daley, raving and baffled, hastening from the house. A strange accident had happened to Dean Mercer. He had run against a marble pedestal, holding a rare and expensive urn. This had upset, and falling on him, held him pinned to the floor. He now tried to extricate himself. He tore himself loose, and clinging to the box of money, arose to his feet. At that moment the judge and several members of his family, alarmed, terrified, rushed into the room. Dean was terribly excited. “Judge! judge!” he gasped, “the burglars have fled.” His tones betrayed his identity, as his disguised appearance would never have done, though the last was now certain to be another link in the chain of circumstantial evidence against him. “Dean Mercer!” exclaimed Judge Oglesby. “Is it possible you have sunk to this?” CHAPTER XXV. DEAN MERCER IN JAIL. It would be impossible to describe the consternation and alarm that overwhelmed Dean at the words of Judge Oglesby. He essayed to refute the terrible charge, and could not speak. In a flash, he saw the position he was in. Disguised, already branded as a thief, he had been found by the judge with a box of valuables in his hand. The real thieves had escaped. Who would believe Dean Mercer’s story of the true facts of the case? There had come a thundering knock at the front door of the house, and the judge hastened to open it, to admit a half a dozen excited men--the ones Marcus Ellison had just called to his aid. Then there was hubbub and confusion. In horror they regarded Dean Mercer, and then just as Dean in a transport of anguish tried to shout out his story and avow his innocence, he was seized and borne from the house. Ten minutes later he was locked up in the corridor of the little town jail, and in the outer room he could hear excited voices discussing the events of the night. “Worse and worse!” wailed Dean, utterly crushed and frightened. “Oh, this is terrible!” Yes, it was terrible. Circumstances were against him. He was doubly condemned now, and he sat down on a bench in the corridor and tried to think it all over and wonder what the outcome of it all would be. The town marshal came in. He glanced at Dean with a stern face. “Well, boy, you’re in a pretty bad fix,” he said. “I am innocent, sir!” he gasped wildly. The marshal shrugged his shoulders incredulously. “Don’t try to lie out of it,” he said harshly. “But the real burglars----” “Nonsense! a fiction!” “Can I see Judge Oglesby?” “He don’t want to see you.” Dean was left to himself again. An hour went by--two. The jail became quiet and deserted again. “Hist--Dean! Dean!”