“First of all,” he directed his men, “bring your flashlights, and we’ll examine the ground under that window. Then we’ll climb up, the same way, if we can borrow a ladder. The vines may--” “Flashlight?” repeated Whitcomb. “Why, Chief, it’s broad _daylight_! In another ten minutes the sun’ll be up.” He went over to the nearest long window and threw open the old-fashioned wooden shutters. Into the room surged the strong dawnlight, paling the electric lamps to a sickly yellow. In, too, through the window itself as he swung it wide, wafted a breath of sweet summer morning air, heavy of dew-soaked earth and of flowers and vibrant with the matin song of a million birds. The lightning transition from spectral night to flush daylight came as a shock to the group. It jolted them back to normality. Joshua Q. Mosely was the first to speak. “Guess we’ll hunt up Pee-air and have him bring the car around,” said he briskly. “I and Mrs. M. did our packing last night. No sense in our sticking here any longer. I’ll leave my _address_ with you, Chief, and a memo about the reward. Guess we’ll move along to Lenox or maybe down to Lee for breakfast. See you before we go, Mr. Vail. So long!” He followed the chief and his men from the room, Mrs. Mosely in tow. Dr. Lawton drifted aimlessly after Quimby. The four who remained stood for a moment looking after the receding outlanders. Then Clive turned impulsively, remorsefully, to Vail. “I’m so sorry old man!” he exclaimed. “So rotten sorry! I never meant--” “Sorry?” echoed Miss Gregg. “You needn’t be. You did your best. It’s no fault of yours that Thax isn’t to be held for the Grand Jury.” Creede winced as though she had spat in his face. He was ghastly pale, and he slumped rather than stood. He looked desperately ill. “I was trying to help,” he pleaded, his ghastly face working. “Honestly, I was, Thax. I suppose that gas attack at my lab has dulled whatever brains I had. It seemed to me I was backing you up, and then all at once I realized I had said things that might make him think--” “They made him think, all right,” assented the grim old lady. “And you backed Thax up, too--backed him clear up against the wall. If I hadn’t had the rare good luck to be able to prove he was innocent--” “Oh, it’s all right, Clive,” said Vail, pitying his friend’s utter demoralization. “You meant all right. I--” “It’s all wrong,” denied Creede brokenly. “I’ve harmed the best friend I have in the world. The fact that I was trying to help doesn’t make any difference. If you don’t mind, I’ll follow the sweet Moselys’ example--pack up and go home.” “Nonsense!” scoffed Vail. “No harm’s done. Stay on here. You meant all right--” “Hell is paved with the skulls of people who ‘meant all right,’” interpolated Miss Gregg, severely. “The vilest insult one rational human can heap upon another is that damning phrase, ‘He meant all right!’ It’s a polite term for ‘mischief maker’ and for ‘hoodoo.’”