“I’d rather like to know why Carpenter shot himself. So would other people. If this woman is a menace she should be exposed.” “She should indeed. An interloper, making trouble, trying to run politics--” He surveyed her amusedly, familiar with outbreaks of spite, waiting for his point to win itself. “You knew her well.” “I worked with her closely. A brilliant person--clever, modern. Modern in the way that these Eastern young women are modern. I did not approve of many things she did. I did not approve of some of the things she said. Then there was an incident which convinced me.” She went on, a little deft prodding keeping her in motion, telling the story of having seen Walter Carpenter come to Margaret’s room and of having seen the letter from Gregory with its protestation that he must see her, that he wanted “to unloose her emotions--not fetter her in marriage.” How those words had imprinted themselves on Mrs. Thorstad’s mind! There was great satisfaction in Robinson’s face. “And this Gregory?” She had thought that out too. “Why it must have been that Gregory Macmillan. He came here later and she talked of knowing him. I heard Mrs. Flandon speak of it.” “Ah, the Sinn Feiner! Why, it’s perfect.” She had a moment of fearful doubt. “You wouldn’t quote me? There’d be no libel--?” “My dear lady, I’ve no money to spend on libel suits. I’ll never get mixed up in one. Every bit of my stuff is looked over by a lawyer before it sees the light of print. Don’t you worry. I’d never implicate a lady. Scourging a vampire”--he fell into his grandiloquent press language again--“is an entirely different matter.” “There’s such a thing as justice,” said Mrs. Thorstad bridling. He nodded with gravity. They might have been, from their appearance, two kindly middle-aged persons discussing a kindly principle, so well did their faces deceive their minds. So it happened that the next issue of the ‘Town Reporter’ carried in its headlines on the following day-- WAS MYSTERY OF SUICIDE OF RICH CLUBMAN ENTANGLED IN FREE LOVE PROBLEM? There followed an article of subtle insinuation written by the hand of an adept. It crept around the edge of libel, telling only the facts that every one knew, but in such proximity that the train of thought must be complete--that one who knew anything of the people implicated could see that Margaret Duffield (never named) believer in all “doctrines of free madness” had “perhaps preyed upon the soul of the man.” And then after a little the “Sinn Feiner” came into the article, he too coming from groups who knew no “law but license.” Ugly intrigue--all of it--dragging its stain across the corpse of Walter Carpenter. * * * * *