I couldn't help it. He was such a stupid. The idea of telling me that Fred Obermuller believed me guilty! The idea of thinking me such a fool as to believe that! Such men as that make criminals. They're so fat-witted you positively ache--they so tempt you to pull the wool over their eyes. O Mag, if the Lord had only made men cleverer, there'd be fewer Nancy Oldens. The Chief blew a blast at his speaking-tube that made his purple cheeks seem about to burst. My shoulders shook as I watched him, he was so wrathy. And I was still laughing when I followed the detective out into the waiting-room, where Obermuller was pacing the floor. At the sight of my smiling face he came rushing to me. "Nance!" he cried. "Orders are, Morris," came in a bellow from the Chief at his door, "that no further communication be allowed between the prisoner and--" Phew! All the pertness leaked out of me. Oh, Mag, I don't like that word. It stings--it binds--it cuts. I don't know what I looked like then; I wasn't thinking of me. I was watching Obermuller's face. It seemed to grow old and thin and haggard before my eyes, as the blood drained out of it. He turned with an exclamation to the Chief and-- And just then there came a long ring at the telephone. Why did I stand there? O Mag, when you're on your way to the place I was bound for, when you know that before you'll set foot in this same bright little room again, the hounds in half a dozen cities will have scratched clean every hiding-place you've had, when your every act will be known and--and--oh, then, you wait, Mag, you wait for anything--anything in the world; even a telephone call that may only be bringing in another wretch like yourself; bound, like yourself, for the Tombs. The Chief himself went to answer it. "Yes--what?" he growled. "Well, tell Long Distance to get busy. What's that? St. Francis--that's the jag ward, isn't it? Who is it? Who? Ramsay!" I caught Obermuller's hand. "I don't hear you," the Chief roared. "Oh--yes? Yes, we've got the thief, but the money--no, we haven't got the money. The deuce you say! Took it yourself? Out of your wife's purse--yes.... Yes. But we've got the--What? Don't remember where you--" "Steady, Nance," whispered Obermuller, grabbing my other hand. I tried to stand steady, but everything swayed and I couldn't hear the rest of what the Chief was saying, though all my life seemed condensed into a listening. But I did hear when he jammed the receiver on the hook and faced us. "Well, they've got the money. Ramsay took the purse himself, thinking it wasn't safe there under the spread where any servant might be tempted who chanced to uncover it. You'll admit the thing looked shady. The reason Mrs. Ramsay didn't know of it is because the old man's just come to his senses in a hospital and been notified that the purse was missing." "I want to apologize to you, Chief," I mumbled. "For thinking me stupid? Oh, we were both--"