“I know it; but then there is--” He paused abruptly and gestured the rest. “You mean the girl?” Webster frowned. All along he had feared this phase of the affair; the girl had struck him from the very first as looming altogether too large in Kenyon’s account of it. “If it wasn’t for her,” said Kenyon, “the entire matter would be a sort of joke to me. But she changes the face of everything. I can’t stop thinking of her.” “Well, you had better get into the habit of trying,” growled Garry Webster. “You know it doesn’t do to go about falling in love with girls like this. Now don’t try to shut me off! You _are_ in love with her; if you don’t know it, I do. I’m experienced. I’ve been in love a half-dozen times myself.” He paused for a moment; and his tone changed, as he continued: “You see, Ken, you don’t know anything about her. As the thing stands it doesn’t look even near right. It’s a police matter, and she is unquestionably mixed up in it.” Kenyon winced at this and his face seemed to lose a little of its color. But he said nothing. “I know that my remarks hurt some,” proceeded Garry. “But it’s a fact, and fact is a thing that I’m strong on--it’s a thing that a man doesn’t do well to brush carelessly by. If he does he’s making a mistake.” Kenyon put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t think me an ass, old fellow; I see all these things you speak of--and perhaps more, for I’m deeper in the maze than you think. But in spite of it all, I can’t drive the image of that unknown girl from my mind; and I cannot help believing that no matter what manner of things the others may be guilty of, she is innocent.” “All right,” returned Webster, with a sigh. “Look at it as you see fit. I only hope you prove to be right. There is a great deal in a person’s characteristics, I know; and of course I haven’t seen the girl. Perhaps, if I had, I might feel just as confident of her as you do.” “I’m sure you would,” said Kenyon, fervently. “No one to look at her could feel otherwise. I know that I’m talking like a moonstruck sophomore, Garry, but just the same I mean every word of it.” At that moment Webster sighted a cab and signaled it. In a very short space of time they had been set down at Bellevue Hospital, and a nurse had summoned a white-clad, pleasant-faced young surgeon. When he heard their errand he looked interested. “Oh, yes,” said he. “The rather queer matter of last night. Sit down.” The two young men sat down and the surgeon occupied the corner of a desk. Apparently he made the same mistake as the policeman had, for his opening words were: