Lyon was distinctly nervous when he got away from Bede and had time to reflect on their conversation. Two things were evident,--that Bede knew about Fullerton's former relation with Miss Wolcott and that he suspected Lyon of knowing more of the situation than the miscellaneous public. Was it possible that he was trying to connect Miss Wolcott with the woman who had called upon Fullerton that evening and had gone out with him? Lyon was satisfied in his own mind that the woman was Mrs. Broughton, but Bede was certainly justified in entertaining the other hypothesis, since he knew nothing about Mrs. Broughton. Would he give his hypothesis to the public? That was exactly what Lawrence had been so anxious to prevent that he had refused to clear himself of the charge of murder,--if, as Lyon believed, he was really not implicated. Was his sacrifice to be for nothing? Lyon saw, at any rate, that he himself must be wary in his movements, since it was evident that Bede was thoroughly alive to as much of the situation as he knew.

He had received a note from Howell, Lawrence's lawyer, asking him to call at his office, and he turned in that direction now. His way, however, took him past the jail, and he took the opportunity to carry out the scriptural injunction to visit those in prison. Poor Lawrence must need a little cheering up.

But poor Lawrence greeted him with a gayety that did not suggest the need of sympathy. Indeed, his eyes were dancing with triumph.

"Do you see my flowers, old man?" he cried jubilantly.

A huge bunch of long-stemmed roses, still in the florist's box, was filling the cell with color and fragrance.

"Who sent them?" asked Lyon suspiciously.

"Devil a card or a scrap of writing with them."

"Oh, then it's merely because you have become a celebrity," said Lyon, indifferently. "Silly women are always sending flowers to the principals in any murder case."

"Bad luck to you, you're jealous," cried Lawrence. "If you are going to slander my roses after that fashion, you can go,--go and get me a dictionary of the flower language. I want to find out what American Beauties mean,--when they come without a card."

"I'd like to know myself," said Lyon, taking note of the florist's name on the box.

Lawrence looked at him with mischievous eyes, that still were dancing with happiness. "Oh, but you are slow of imagination, Lyon," he said, softly.

Lyon concluded that he was not needed at that moment as a cheerer of those in prison, so he got away, and hunted up Howell's office in a tall office building down town. He was taken into the lawyer's private office, where he found Howell with his hands behind his back, staring moodily through the window into a dingy court, instead of deep in his books as a lawyer is supposed to be. There was exasperation and protest in every line of his figure. He turned to nod to Lyon without relaxing his gloom.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lyon. Sit down. I asked you to call in connection with this case of Lawrence's."

"Yes."

"Have you any influence with him?"

"I doubt it," said Lyon, with a smile. "I don't think that he allows many men to exert an influence upon him."

"At any rate, you are a friend of his?"

"Most certainly,--so far as I am concerned. I am rather too new a friend to feel that I have much right to claim the title."

Howell regarded him frowningly though with what was evidently intended for good-will.

"I think you will understand me, Mr. Lyon, when I say that a more pig-headed, exasperating, obstinate client never fell to my lot. He doesn't remember. He can't say. What I need in preparing my defense is not a law library so much as a kit of burglar's tools. I have got to break into his mind somehow. He is hiding something. Do you know what it is?"

Lyon reflected that Bede had not asked that question. Bede had known! He must still keep faith with Lawrence, who had trusted him; but was it not possible to help Lawrence against his will through this lawyer? He picked his way carefully.

"I don't really know very much, Mr. Howell. I guess at some things, and I shall be glad to lay my little knowledge before you. But first, tell me, is Lawrence's situation really dangerous?"

"Yes," said Howell tersely. "You see, an alibi is out of the question. He has admitted that he was in the neighborhood. Donohue's testimony shows that he might easily have been on the very spot. Certainly he was not far from it. Yet he offers no explanation as to what he was doing there. That Fullerton could have been struck down--there must have been some sort of an altercation--and Lawrence neither see nor hear anything, is certainly curious. That his cane should have been found on the spot is certainly unfortunate. That he should have publicly slapped Fullerton's face that morning is the devil's own luck. Frankly, Mr. Lyon, unless I can in some way discover the actual facts of that night's proceedings, the prospects for clearing Lawrence are not cheerful. Of course, the facts may not help him,--but if that is the case it is even more important that I should know them. I can't work in the dark. Now, do you know, yourself, what Lawrence was doing that night?"

"No."

"You didn't see him?"

"Not until the crowd had gathered."

Howell looked disappointed. "I hoped that possibly you might be able to give me the facts that he is withholding."

"Isn't it possible that he is withholding nothing,--that there is nothing to withhold?"

"It is possible, but if that is the situation, it is a malicious conspiracy on the part of fate to trap an innocent man. It will be difficult to make a jury believe he is as ignorant as he wants us to think. No, as far as I can see into the situation, our only hope is that there is a woman in the case and that we can work the jury for emotional sympathy." He looked keenly at Lyon.

"You may think it a wild notion," said Lyon, "but I have an idea that possibly there is a woman in the case, though Lawrence doesn't know anything about her. I was in Fullerton's rooms at the Wellington this morning,--"

"How did you get in?"

"Blarneyed the janitor. On the table I found a handkerchief that is the mate of one I have seen in the hand of Mrs. Woods Broughton."

"Well?"

"On the table was a transcript of the divorce proceedings in the case of Grace Vanderburg v. William H. Vanderburg. You know, of course, that Grace Vanderburg is now Mrs. Woods Broughton."

Howell nodded.

"There were a number of books on divorce on the table, as though he had just been looking up the subject,--or discussing it with a client. You know Fullerton was Mrs. Vanderburg's attorney."

"You are leading up to something."

"This. The elevator boy gave me a more particular description of the woman who left the Wellington with Fullerton that evening than Donohue was able to give. I feel sure that woman was Mrs. Broughton."

"Mrs. Broughton is not in Waynscott."

"Yes. She is staying with Miss Elliott on Locust Avenue."

"But the papers have not mentioned it. Are you sure?"

"She is very quiet,--under the care of Dr. Barry, and suffering from a nervous shock which dates from Monday night."

Howell's foot tapped nervously upon the floor. "But this is amazing, if not incredible. How do you come to know it,--or think you know it?"

"I have seen and talked with Mrs. Broughton."

"You!"

"Yes. She sent for me to ask for information about Lawrence. She said she had been distressed by the news of the murder, and as Lawrence was an old friend she was anxious to learn what danger he stood in,--if I could tell her anything more than the reports in the papers. That's about all."

"All!" exclaimed Howell, excitedly. "What more would you want, in the name of wonder? The woman who was in Fullerton's company--"

"That's merely my guess, you remember. But the elevator boy described a chain she wore, and her manner of speaking very accurately."

"When did you see her?"

"Last night."

"You must take me to her immediately. Here you have wasted hours--"

Lyon shook his head. "Dr. Barry has forbidden her seeing anyone. He fears serious nervous disturbance,--mental derangement, in fact. She has evidently had a severe nervous shock."

"Does Dr. Barry know what you have told me?"

"No."

"Does anyone know?"

"No."

"Not even Lawrence?&quo............