"It was the papers called you such awful things. I didn't," she said, wistfully defensive. "I couldn't--not after seeing you on the beach that day, playing around like a great big kid, and not making eyes at the girls when they made eyes at you. You--you didn't act like a villain, when I saw you. You acted like a big boy that likes to have fun--oh, just oodles of fun, but hasn't got a mean hair in his head. I know; I watched you and the fellows you were with. I was up on the pier looking down at you whooping around in the surf. And next day, when the girls at the Martha Washington read about it in the papers, I just couldn't believe it was true, what they said about you boys being organized into bandits and all that, and leading a double life and everything. "But it did look bad when you beat it--about two jumps ahead of the police, at that. You see Fred was along with the man that was shot, and being in the garage and around automobiles all the time, he thought to read the number of your car, and remembered it; near enough anyway, so that he knew for sure it was the Singleton Corey car by the make and general appearance of it, and identified it positively when he saw it in your garage. And that did make it look bad!" "What did mother do when they--?" Jack did not look up while he stammered the question that had been three months feeding his imagination with horrors. "Why, she didn't do anything. She went right away, that very morning, to a sanitarium and would not see anybody but her own private nurse and her own private doctor. They gave out bulletins about how she slept and what she had for breakfast, and all that. But, believe me, brother, they didn't get any dope from her! She just simply would not be interviewed!" Jack let out a long breath and sat up. At the corners of his mouth there lurked the temptation to smile. "That's mother--true to form," he muttered admiringly. "Of course, they scouted around and got most of the boys that were with you, but they couldn't get right down to brass tacks and prove anything except that they were with you at the beach. They're still holding them on bail or something, I believe. You know how those things kind of drop out of the news. There was a big police scandal came along and crowded all you little bandits off the front page. But I know the trial hasn't taken place yet, because Fred would have to be a witness, so he'd know, of course. And, besides, the man hasn't died or got well or anything, yet, and they're waiting to see what he's going to do." "Who's Fred?" Jack stood up and leaned toward her, feeling all at once that he must know, and know at once, who Fred might be. "Why, he's Kate's brother. He's down here at Toll-Gate cabin, working out the assessments--" Jack sat down again and caressed his bruised knuckles absently. "Well, then, I guess this is the finish," he said dully, after a minute.