“Since October the whole occult force of the Empire has been upon the case,” Cardinegh answered. “It was a civilian job on the face of it. That was incontrovertible. All the other boys fell under the eyes of the service. They didn’t know it, of course, but each day of the past four months we have been covered, our pasts balanced. One after another, the process of elimination vindicated them--all but you and me. Your infernal habit of campaigning alone was against you, your being an American, your Brahmin affiliations, your uncanny knowledge of the Great Inside. Still, they took nothing for granted. At Naples two agents drew me to cover, demanding what I knew. It was you or I. They knew it, and I knew it. The bulk of suspicion leaned your way. I shaped more evidence against you, hinted that I could secure your confession, if they only let me alone until I could get to you.” “Tell me again just why, Jerry.” “Because I wanted a day--just one day! I hadn’t seen Noreen for nearly a year. I wanted a day with her. I needed to arrange her affairs. God help me, Routledge, I wanted her to love the old man--one more day! I couldn’t cable you. I thought--I thought you would hold the weight one day--for old sake’s sake!” “And what do you propose to do, Jerry?” “I have had my day. I am going to the War Department with the facts this morning!” “And then?” “Vanish.” “And your daughter--Miss Noreen?” Cardinegh swallowed with difficulty. His unsteady fingers fumbled at the place where a man in the field carries a bit of ordnance. The ghost of a smile shook itself out on his face. “Don’t think I am sorry,” he said. “I joggled the seats of the mighty. It was a life’s work. I’ve got my joy for it. It’s not what I expected--but it’s done. I can’t see the good of it clear as I did--but it’s done. Only I wanted to look it in the face like the old Jerry Cardinegh might have done--not sick, shaking, and half-drunk. I should have done it when the little house in Cheer Street only meant to me a sweet resting-place between wars. I burned out before the end, my son.” “But Noreen----” “In the name of God, don’t drive that home again! She’ll never know what the forty know. She’s provided for. I have had my day--thanks to you. They’ll let me clear from England. I’m accustomed to take short-notice trips, and to stay long. She will hear--as she always feared some time to hear--oh, typhoid in Madagascar, a junk murder up the Yangtse--potted somewhere!... Blessed little Noreen. In tears she told me what had happened to you at the Armory. Think how I felt, son. She loves you, Routledge. What--what I’ve done doesn’t affect her value--in your eyes?” “Jerry, how did you get away with this thing in India?”