"Frank," Aleta laid a hand impulsively upon his arm, "I don't suppose there's any way to save this man ... I--oh, Frank, it would be awful if he went to prison." He stared at her. "What do you mean, Aleta?" "I mean," she answered, "that he's done things for me ... because he loves me ... hopes to win me. He's sincere in that.... Oh, can't you see how it would hurt if--" "If he gets caught--stealing," Frank spoke harshly. "Well, you should have thought of that before, my dear." A touch of anger tinctured the appeal with which her eyes met his. "One doesn't always reason when the heart is sore. When one is bitter with--well--yearning." He did not answer. He was rather startled by that look. Finally she said, more gently: "Frank, you'll help him if you can--I know." He nodded. It was late. Aleta had to hurry to the theatre. Frank left her there and walked down Sutter street. He turned south toward Heney's office. It was in a little house between Geary and O'Farrell, up a short flight of stairs. Above were the living quarters of Heney and his companion, half clerk, half bodyguard. There was a light in the office, but the shades of the bay-window were tightly drawn. Frank rang the bell, which was not immediately answered. Finally the bodyguard came to the door. "Mr. Heney's very busy, very busy." He seemed tremendously excited. "Very well," said Frank; "I'll come tomorrow." "We'll have big news for you," the man announced. He shut the door hastily and double-locked it. Frank decided to remain in the neighborhood. He might learn something. The morning papers had been getting the best of it recently in the way of news. It proved a tiresome vigil. And the night was chilly. Frank began to walk briskly up and down the block. A dozen times he did this without result. Then the sudden rumble of a motor car spun him about. He saw two men hasten down the steps of Heney's office, almost leap into the car. Instantly it drove off. Frank, who followed to the corner, saw it traveling at high speed toward Fillmore street. He looked about for a motor cab in which to follow. There was none in sight. Reluctantly he turned toward home. He had been outwitted, doubtless by a watcher. But not completely. For he was morally certain that one of the men who left Heney's office was Big Jim Gallagher. That visit was significant. From his hotel Frank tried to locate the editor of his paper by telephone. He was not successful. He went to bed, disgusted, after leaving a daylight call. It was still dark when he dressed the next morning, the previous evening's events fresh in his thought. He had scarcely reached the street before a newsboy thrust a morning paper toward him. Frank saw that the upper half of the front page was covered with large black headlines. He snatched it, tossing the boy a "two-bit piece," and, without waiting or thinking of the change, became absorbed in the startling information it conveyed.