"No, but he tried to kill me. Didn't I tell you?" "No, you never told us," Warde said, gently. "Tell us now." "It was at Camp Merritt." "What do you mean? When?" Blythe closed his eyes and lay for a few moments, silent. It seemed as if he slept. The boys looked at each other, puzzled. The invalid opened his eyes and smiled. "Did you pick up all the sticks?" he asked. "Yes, we did," Warde said. "Tell us about your brother; we're all friends." "Friends and comrades," Blythe said faintly. "That's it, you said it," Roy assured him. "He tried to kill me," Blythe said. "Why did he try to do that--Blythey?" Roy asked. "We're your friends; tell us all about it. You remember better than you used to?" "I thought I told you," the invalid said simply. "They're going to take me to Canada next week. I've got to be tried for something. They think I only dreamed that my brother tried to kill me. I would rather stay here with you. Can't you tell them, so I can stay here? I want to stay. We were all like a kind of a family--telling yarns. You know me. They have a conspiracy here. You know all about me, you tell them. If you ask them to give me back the--the--locket, they will. It has her picture?" "Whose picture--Blythey?" "My mother's, _you_ know. You know how I went up and got it. You're my friends and I'm yours--" "Yes, you are," Roy said, his eyes glistening. The invalid closed his eyes and lay as if asleep. The two scouts waited, but the eyes did not reopen. So they arose quietly and left the ward. They had been told they could not stay long. They were deeply affected and bewildered. Blythe was different, but _how_ different they could not say. He just seemed different. He had spoken with simple frankness of things he had never mentioned before. He was _changed_. This fact and what he had said, and the stillness of the place, and the queer odor in the ward and corridor, and the noiselessness of their own footfalls on the rubber covered hall, awed the two scouts to such a degree that they longed for the free open air where they could talk. It was with some trepidation that they encountered at the head of the stairway the police guard talking with Detective Ferrett. "Well, how do you find him?" the county official asked in gruff good humor. He at least seemed not at all awed by the solemnity of the place. "Does he have to go to Canada?" Roy asked. "Does he have to go soon?" "Yes, siree. Been telling you about his brother?" "Is it true?" Roy asked. "Na-a-h! He either hasn't come to his senses yet or he's bluffing. He's going back to Quebec to a dope-house or else to the gallows. How'd _you_ like to go to the gallows, hey?" he added as a pleasantry. "You're--you're _sure_ he's the one?" Roy asked, in pitiful despair. "Well now what do _you_ think? You saw the pictures, huh? He's the chap, says you. Been trying to string you, huh? He rang that brother in on me yesterday." "He wants the locket you took from him," said Roy.