She nodded. “Yes, honey; Peter told me. But we’re not going to fret about it. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Cousin ’Gene--and we’ve got Peter!” Mr. Carey got heavily to his feet. “Poor white trash!” he said thickly. “A lying, thieving knave. I shall shoot him down like a yellow cur!” Dark blood suffused his face. “No, Cousin ’Gene, _no_! You can’t do that!” Mary-Lou soothed. “He isn’t worth the mess it would make you, Cousin ’Gene, honey. Now, just sit down, and we’ll talk it over!” She pushed him gently back in his chair, crossed to a window and opened it wider. Peter followed her. “Did you tell her?” He whispered it. “Peter, I couldn’t; she hasn’t been home all day. But I’m going right back there now, and wait for her. I thought she might have come here for Cousin ’Gene.” “Like a yellow cur,” the old gentleman was repeating. “I shall shoot him like a yellow cur.” “He deserves it, sir,” said Heminway clucking, and lifting his green shade to fix his mournful eyes on the senior partner. “He deserves it.” “But I think we won’t, just the same, for several reasons, and the best of them is that he won’t be within range. I told him our findings early this morning--sent him a note--and I expect he has, by this time, gone extremely hence.” Peter Parker smiled cheerfully at them. “It seemed to me much the simplest and pleasantest way to handle the situation.” Mr. Carey struggled to his feet again with a roar of baffled rage, just as the superintendent’s assistant came into the room. “Confound you, sir,” he shouted, “what right had you----” Heminway coughed apologetically. “I took the liberty, gentlemen, of having him shadowed, ever since we began our investigations. There need be no publicity, in case you decide not to prosecute, but I felt it well to--to control the situation in the meantime.” He wetted his lips. “I think you will find he has not left town.” Glen Darrow stepped forward. “He is here, now,” she said. “Luke Manders is coming down the hall.” She spoke very clearly and steadily, and Peter fixed anxious eyes upon her. She met his look gravely. There was no color in her golden-olive cheeks, and there was an air of shock about her, of bewilderment, but there were no tears in her eyes and it seemed to him that the horror was overlaid with gladness. Mr. ’Gene Carey wrenched open a drawer in his desk but Peter Parker was quicker and cleverer, and slipped the pistol into his own pocket. “Steady,” he warned. The door opened gently and Nancy Carey came in, with Luke Manders close behind her, and made a little soft rush toward her father. She was all in pale pink, with a babyish pink silk hat. “Lady-bird,” he said sternly, “this is no place for you. Mary-Lou--Glen, will you take her away?”