“I suppose not,” Witherspoon replied, and then he added:  “That’s Henry now, I think.”

Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks.  “I have been detained on account of business,” he remarked as he sat down.  Brooks smiled.  Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon’s mind.

“My affairs may be light to some people,” Henry said, “but they are heavy enough to me.”

By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile.  He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of Witherspoon’s favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment.  “Oh, I’m sure,” said he, “that your business is most important.  Your paper shows the care and ability with which you preside over it.  I think it’s the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get excellent returns from it.”  Here he caught Witherspoon’s eye and hastened to add:  “Still, I believe that your place is with us in the store.  You could soon make yourself master of every detail.”

“But we will not talk about that now,” Witherspoon spoke up.

“Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your son’s abilities.”

The footman appeared at the door.  “Two gentlemen wish to see Mr. Brooks.”

“Who are they?” Witherspoon asked.

“Wouldn’t give me their names, sir.”

“Some of the boys from the club,” said Brooks.  “Well, I must bid you good evening.”

“There was something I wanted to say to you,” the merchant remarked, walking down the hall with him.

Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly.  Presently he heard Witherspoon exclaim:  “Great God!” And a moment later the merchant came rushing back.

“Where is my hat?” he cried.  “Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of murdering Colton!  Where is my hat?”

Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon’s shoulder, and said:  “Sit down here, father.”

“Sit down the devil!” he raved.  “I tell you that Brooks has been arrested.  I am going down-town.”

“Not to-night.  Sit down here.”

“What do you mean, sir!”

“I mean that you must not go down-town.  You can do no good by going, Brooks is guilty.  There is no doubt about it.”

The old man dropped in his chair.  Mrs. Witherspoon came running into the room.  “What on earth is the matter?” she cried.  Witherspoon struggled to his feet.  Henry caught him by the arm.  “Mother, don’t be alarmed.  Brooks has simply been arrested.”

“For the murder of Colton!” Witherspoon hoarsely whispered.  His voice had failed him.

“Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it.  There is no cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement—­she saw Brooks kill the old man.”

Witherspoon dropped in his chair.  His hands hung listlessly beside him.  Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him.