"don't get excited. Of course I'm sorry—I'm not a brute and I've got feelings—but I can't afford to lose my head. Something's got to be done, and done quick. We don't want this headlined in every paper in the United States to-morrow morning—Thornton wouldn't want it either. You say Miss Harvey wants to see me? Well, that'll help some—she'll probably do as she's told, and—"
Madison paused abruptly, gazed abstractedly at the private car across the tracks on the siding, and pulled at his cigar.
Helena watched him in silence—a little bitterly. That quick, clever, cunning brain of his was at work again—scheming—scheming—always scheming—and Naida Thornton was dead.
"I'll tell you," said Madison, speaking again as abruptly as he had stopped. "It's simple enough. There's a westbound train due in an hour or so—we'll couple the private car onto that and send it right along to Chicago. What the authorities don't know won't hurt them. There's no reason for anybody except Thornton to know what's happened till she gets there—I'll wire him. The main thing is that the car won't be here in the morning, and that'll take a little of the intimate touch of Needley off. It might well have happened on her way home—journey too much for her—left too soon—see? Thornton'll see it in the right light because he's got fifty thousand dollars worth of faith in what's going on here—get that? He won't want to harm
