The household still slept. The air was close and heavy with the perfume of roses and the reek of dead cigars. On the floor of the entrance hall lay a pair of woman's white gloves, palms upward. Beyond, through the open doors of the dining-room, I could see the uncleared table, littered over with half-empty bottles and glasses. An upset chair reclined as it had fallen. Last night I had been an envied host; to-day I was an outcast. As I stood there, a shadow darkened the doorway and with a leap of the heart I jumped behind a portiere. Then, as the shadow remained and knowing that in any event I was trapped, I threw open the door. Gottlieb, with wild eyes peering out of a haggard face, stood before me. Without a moment's hesitation, he dodged inside. "Did you get it?" he almost shrieked. "Yes," I answered faintly. "What are we to do?" "For God's sake give me something to drink!" he cried. "I need it!" I led him to the sideboard and filled two glasses with whiskey. "Here's to crime!" I muttered, with a bitter laugh. Gottlieb shot a fierce look at me and his hand shook so that I thought he would drop the tumbler; but he poured the liquor down his throat and threw himself into a chair. "That fellow has us by the throat!" he groaned. "We should have thought of that--" I began. "Stop!" he gasped. "You can hold a post-mortem later on. They haven't got us yet--and, by God! we've a long start. Once let us whip Hawkins out of the way and they're helpless! I must stay here to fight the case, but you, Quib, must take this fellow where they'll never find him--Africa, Alaska, Europe--anywhere! If you could drop him over a precipice or off an ocean liner--so much the better!" For an instant we eyed each other keenly. Then I shook my head. "No," said I. "If it came to that I'd rather go to jail." It was now nearly seven o'clock and I felt faint for something to eat; so I stumbled upstairs and awakened my butler, who stared at me stupidly when he saw me beside his bed in evening dress. When I rejoined Gottlieb I found him examining the morning paper, which a boy had just brought to the front door. Across the front page in double-leaded type was printed: THE DILLINGHAM DIVORCE AGAIN Arthur P. Hawkins Indicted for Perjury Extraordinary Disclosures Expected Two Prominent Criminal Attorneys Said to be Involved "They've raised the hue and cry already!" muttered my partner, pointing to the paper. "Damn them! How ready they are to turn on a man! Think of all the stories I've given to these very papers! Stories worth thousands of dollars to 'em! And now--they're after our hearts' blood!"