yar. There was a silver lining to Millyar's cloud, but McKenzie's troubles so far as I can see, have no bright side."
Toward six o'clock, Ruthven made his way back to the McKenzie home. McKenzie himself met him at the door. He was dressed with care, freshly shaved, and wearing his best clothes. There was grim determination in his gaunt face. Just from the look of him, Ruthven knew that he had steeled himself to see that crisis through to a finish.
Lois was in the sitting room, quietly waiting. "This awful hour finds us ready, Mr. Ruthven," she said, with a wan smile. Then she whispered, as her father stepped out of the room for a moment: "Watch dad, will you? He seems so calm and self-possessed that I am afraid some desperate purpose is in his mind. He—he might attack Morrison."
Ruthven nodded reassuringly. "I'll watch," he added. "Don't worry."
They heard the train roll up to the station from the west. It was several minutes late. McKenzie placed himself at a window from which he could see the railroad station, and watched the arriving passengers. Ruthven got up and stepped to his side. Out of the crowd that moved around the station, one man could be seen making in the direction of Al Reeves, who was hauling a truckload of incoming freight. The two talked together for a moment, then Reeves turned and pointed in the direction of McKenzie's house.
"That's Hackett, the detective," said Ruthven.
The ticking of the clock sounded like a knell. The fitful piping of the canary only served to accentuate the dreariness of the wait.
"He's coming this way alone," remarked McKenzie colorlessly. "Is some one else bringing Morrison?"
"Maybe Morrison isn't going to come at all," returned Ruthven, a sudden hope thrilling in his voice. "I told Hackett I didn't see the use of bothering you with any of Morrison's schemes. He insisted that it was necessary; but maybe he has changed his mind."
"I believe, Mr. Ruthven," said McKenzie, "that you have been a much better friend of mine, all along, than I had any reason to think; but the blow is going to fall, and. we may as well wait patiently for it."
He sat down and cast a glance, full of vague anxiety, toward Lois. She smiled back at him sympathetically and cheeringly. Presently there was a knock at the door, and Lois went to answer it.
"Mr. McKenzie's house?" came the question in Hackett's voice from the front door.
"Yes."
"Is Mr. McKenzie here, or will I have to go to the store to see him?"
"He is here. Please come in."
The detective was ushered into the room. "Hello, Ruthven!" he called; "glad to see you here. This is Mr. McKenzie?"
Ruthven introduced the two men.
"You've called to see me about—about something Weasel Morrison said?" queried McKenzie, bracing himself.
"That's it exactly."
"I thought Morrison was to be with you?"
"So did I. Jenkins and I were bringing him and his pal along, and I intended to stop off at Burt City with Morrison, but—well, that is impossible now. You see, I had Morrison handcuffed to my right wrist, and in some way he managed to break the cuff, dashed down the aisle of the car, and jumped into the right of way."
Here was startling information. All those in the room sat up very straight as they listened.
"And he escaped?" asked Ruthven.
