“Not necessarily. Clark would be on trial. He's been indicted. He has to be tried.” “Why does he have to be tried? He's free now. He's been free for ten years. And I tell you as an honest opinion that the thing would kill her. Accident and all, she did it. And there would be some who'd never believe she hadn't tired of Lucas, and wanted the Clark money.” “That's a chance she'll have to take,” Bassett said doggedly. “The only living witness who could be called would be the valet. And remember this: for ten years he has believed that she did it. He'll have built up a story by this time, perhaps unconsciously, that might damn her.” Dick moved. “There's only one thing to do. You're right, Gregory. I'll never expose her to that.” “You're crazy,” Bassett said angrily. “Not at all. I told you I wouldn't hide behind a woman. As a matter of fact, I've learned what I wanted. Lucas wasn't murdered. I didn't shoot him. That's what really matters. I'm no worse off than I was before; considerably better, in fact. And I don't see what's to be gained by going any further.” In spite of his protests, Bassett was compelled finally to agree. He was sulky and dispirited. He saw the profound anticlimax to all his effort of Dick wandering out again, legally dead and legally guilty, and he swore roundly under his breath. “All right,” he grunted at last. “I guess that's the last word, Gregory. But you tell her from me that if she doesn't reopen the matter of her own accord, she'll have a man's life on her conscience.” “I'll not tell her anything about it. I'm not only her brother; I'm her manager now. And I'm not kicking any hole in the boat that floats me.” He was self-confident and slightly insolent; the hands with which he lighted a fresh cigarette no longer trembled, and the glance he threw at Dick was triumphant and hostile. “As a man sows, Clark!” he said. “You sowed hell for a number of people once.” Bassett had to restrain an impulse to kick him out of the door. When he had gone Bassett turned to Dick with assumed lightness. “Well,” he said, “here we are, all dressed up and nowhere to go!” He wandered around the room, restless and disappointed. He knew, and Dick knew, that they had come to the end of the road, and that nothing lay beyond. In his own unpleasant way Fred Gregory had made a case for his sister that tied their hands, and the crux of the matter had lain in his final gibe: “As a man sows, Clark, so shall he reap.” The moral issue was there. “I suppose the Hines story goes by the board, eh?” he commented after a pause. “Yes. Except that I wish I'd known about him when I could have done something. He's my half-brother, any way you look at it, and he had a rotten deal. Sometimes a man sows,” he added, with a wry smile, “and the other fellow reaps.”