Pen shrugged. "Who knows what may have passed between the two men? A suggestion may have been dropped." "I have it!" cried Don. "Riever could easily tell Dongan to put the orders through in my name so that it would not be guessed that the tip came from him. Everybody knew Riever and I were at outs, you see." "Well there you are," said Pen. There was another silence. "You know what I am thinking," said Pen at last. "My God, yes!" said Don. "Me too! ... But it's incredible!" "Somebody shot Collis Dongan," said Pen simply. "_Somebody who hated you_. For look how cleverly the crime has been fastened on you. That is no accidental train of circumstances. Your revolver! And somebody keeps sending stuff to the newspapers that is cunningly designed to poison the public mind against you!" "But how could Riever get away with it?" asked Don in a maze. "He's too public a character. Like some sort of potentate you know. He never goes out alone. Even if he did shake his body-guard, every newsboy on the street would recognize him." "I don't suppose he did it himself," said Pen. "But with his money he could easily get it done, couldn't he? One reads of such things." "But if I was his mark, why didn't he take a shot direct at me?" said Don. "That wouldn't satisfy a man like that," said Pen. "Instant death is painless." "But what do you know about Riever?" asked Don. "My intuition tells me," she said simply. "For years he has been jealous of you; jealous of everything you were that he was not. It was like a corroding ulcer in his breast. That letter of course brought it to a head.... Don't you see? to drag you down, to disgrace you so completely, to bring you to such an unspeakable death, that is the only thing that would give him satisfaction." "Good God! I can't grasp such fiendish villainy!" cried Don. "I can," said Pen quietly. "... I guess my soul is older than yours." "Suppose we're right," said Don. "What good? There is not a scintilla of evidence!" "He showed his hand once," said Pen. "In offering that reward. Your going away on a trip was the one thing he couldn't have foreseen. It has upset all his calculations." "The reward aroused my suspicions," said Don. "But it's not evidence." "We'll get evidence." "We're up against it all right," said Don harshly. "What is known as the Riever group in New York controls a billion dollars, I guess." "Then you're satisfied that I was right, aren't you?" asked Pen. "How do you mean?" "If you gave yourself up you'd be playing directly into Riever's hands." Don dropped his head between his hands. "You're right!" he groaned. "But good God! how am I going to stand it!" Poor Pen! Her breast yearned over him; her arms ached to enfold him. But she could only sit there like a wooden woman, staring at the ground. There was nothing she could have said which would not have been a mockery. He said at last: "I ought to be in New York."