The receiver was hung up. The only change in Hampstead’s voice from the beginning to the end of this conversation, the larger part of which had taken place upon the other end of the line, was a deepening gravity of utterance. In a few moments the ’phone rang again. It was _The Press_. The papers all had the story now. The Oakland offices of the San Francisco papers were also clamoring. Each wanted to know what the minister had to say to the damning discovery of the diamonds in his box. For them all Hampstead had the same answer: "I have nothing to say—yet." Some of the inquisitors cleverly attempted to draw the clergyman out by suggesting that there was plenty of opportunity for a countercharge that the diamonds had been planted in his box, since it was improbable in the last degree that a man of ordinary intelligence would conceal stolen diamonds in a safe deposit box held in his own name, the key to which he carried in his own pocket; but the self-controlled man at the other end of the telephone fell into no such trap. To direct attention to an inquiry as to who had visited his vault, or might have visited it, during the time since the diamonds were stolen was the last thing the minister would do. Already he had reasoned that the vault custodian on duty in the morning, knowing that Hampstead had not been to the vault during the day, but that Assistant Cashier Burbeck had, would do some excogitating upon his own account; but the minister reflected that this would not be dangerous, since the custodian, sharing in the very great confidence which Rollie enjoyed, would conclude that this young man had been made the innocent messenger for depositing the diamonds in the vault, and for the sake of unpleasant consequences which might result to the bank, would no doubt keep his mouth tightly shut. The last call of all came from Haggard, whose city editor had just told him that the minister declined any sort of an explanation. Haggard was managing editor of _The Press_ and Hampstead’s true friend. "Do you know what this does to your friends?" demanded Haggard passionately. "It makes them as dumb as you are. I know you; you’ve got something up your sleeve. But this case isn’t going to be tried in the courts. It’s being tried in the newspapers right now. Once the court of public opinion goes against you, it’s hard to get a reversal. And it’s going against you from the minute this story gets before the public—our version of it even—for we have got to print the news, you know. We’ve never had bigger." Some sort of a protest gurgled from Hampstead’s lips. "Oh," broke out Haggard still more impatiently, "I think the majority have too much sense to believe you’re a common thief; but they’re going to be convinced you’re a damned fool. A public man had better be found guilty of being a thief than an ass, any day. Now, what can I say?" "I am very sorry," replied Hampstead in a patient voice, "but you can say nothing—absolutely nothing."