that of the third-floor bedroom upon Drayton's first awakening in this much-burglarized house.
'The money,' moaned Martin, wringing his hands. 'All the money I saw you put in there yesterday-it's gone!'
Trenmore was rapidly running over the leather boxes, trays, and the like which were scattered about. He rose with a sigh of relief. 'At least, he's taken nothing else. The money was only a couple of hundred that I can spare; but these trinkets of mine I could not easily replace.'
'I don't believe it was Bertram,' broke in Viola, with the eager loyalty of youth for one who has been, if not a friend, at least a companion. 'He couldn't rob you, Terry, after all we've been through together!'
'What's this?' Drayton had picked up a folded scrap of paper from the dresser. 'Why it's addressed to you, Terry!'
The Irishman took the paper, hastily opened it, and read:
'Dear Mr. Trenmore, I heard what Mr. Scarboro said. Skidoo wasn't anything. Then I ain't anything either. I was goin' to go straight but what's the use. I need this money worse than you. Goodby. B.'
To the astonishment of all present, Trenmore's face suddenly cleared and with a whoop of joy he rushed toward the door.
'Moral tone, is it? Wait till I show this to the old scalawag below there. Now whom will he blame for the moral tone, when he reads this letter? And I never thought of Bertram, the thievin' little crook!'
Waving the missive triumphantly, he thundered down the stairs. Viola burst into almost hysterical laughter and Drayton was forced to laugh with her. 'That shot of Scarboro's rankled,' he said. 'Let's go down and hear them argue it out.'
In the dining room, however, yet another surprise awaited them. Terry was there, a picture of chagrin, but no Scarboro.
'The old villain skipped out,' he said disgustedly, 'while we were tearing about after the other scoundrel! And what's worse, he took the dust with him! Well, I'd not chase after either of them if 'twas to win me a kingdom.'
Very thoughtfully the three made their way to the library. Drayton picked up the crystal vial which Trenmore had flung away. One of its silver heads was dented to a yet more savage expression. Otherwise the Cerberus was unharmed. He offered it to Trenmore, but his friend waved the vial aside.
'I don't want it,' he said grimly. 'Sure, Bobby my lad, I think I'll just give the thing to yourself and Viola for a wedding present-if you fear no ill luck from it.'
'A wedding present!' stammered Drayton. 'See here, Terry, I–Viola, child, I love you too well to marry you! You don't know of the disgrace into which I have fallen, nor, far worse, of the infamy of which I discovered myself capable. On the edge of death and in those strange surroundings, it didn't seem to matter so much; but we are back in a real world again and-and by heaven! I think for me the other was the better place!'
Viola went to him and with her two hands on his arm looked up into his face. 'Bobby,' she said, 'I know what you mean. My brother told me of your sorrows and griefs, while we stood waiting for the examinations to begin, in the Green Room of the temple. He told me everything. Do you think I love you the less that you have suffered?'
'You don't understand' he said hoarsely. Somehow he held himself from taking her in his arms. He looked to Trenmore, but that large, discreet gentleman had wandered over to the window and was staring out into the night. Drayton choked. 'You might as well marry that thief Bertram!' he forced out.
'Marry Bertram!' She laughed softly and hid the flush of her cheek against his coat. 'Why, but so I would marry Bertram did I love him as I love you, Bobby, darling!'
No attempt to persuade him of his own moral innocence could have had the least effect. That last naive assertion, however, was too much for Drayton. His arms swept about her.
Trenmore, looking over his shoulder, grinned and hastily resumed his scrutiny of the empty pavement outside.
'And so,' he murmured, 'we'll just take our worlds as we find them, Bobby, my lad! And we'll see what can be done out there in Cincinnati. The scoundrels that downed him have gold. But I've gold myself. We'll give them a chance to down a fighting Irishman. And maybe-who knows? — there's a Red Bell hung for them, too, in the Dome of Justice. Aye, we'll go spy out the land and think well and then strike hard! The way they'll be wishing they'd crept in their holes and stayed there.'
And with a smile of pleased anticipation for that Olympian battle he sniffed afar, Trenmore turned to the immediate and more difficult task of exerting his Celtic wit and eloquence to persuade Robert Drayton to let him undertake it.
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