“That will be looked into.  And the stopping of the clocks?  Could your apparatus have done that?”

“Never.  It is true a strong electrical current might, under certain circumstances, stop clocks, as well as start them.  But it would not stop all the clocks in the store—­or all that were going—­at different hours.”

“Perhaps not.  Well, I must see what I can do.  Carroll and Thong, with the prosecutor’s men, will use this for all it is worth.  We must combat it somehow.”

“Please find a way, Colonel!  I was so hopeful and—­now—­”

The young man could not go on for a moment because of his emotion.

“Amy—­Miss Mason—­how does she take this?” he faltered.

“She doesn’t know it yet, I believe.  It didn’t get in this morning’s papers, but it will be in this afternoon’s.”

“I wish you could see her and explain.  I—­I can’t stand it to have her lose faith in me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  I’ll put the best face on it I can for her.”

“And you yourself, Colonel!  You—­you don’t believe me guilty because of this new development, do you?”

“If I did I wouldn’t still be handling your case, Mr. Darcy,” was the answer.  “But I don’t say that there isn’t something to explain.  I am, now, giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Then maybe Amy will do the same.”

It was not many hours before the colonel knew this point.  The first edition afternoon papers had not long been out when the detective, who had gone to his hotel after an early morning visit to the jail, was telephoned to by Miss Mason.

“I happened to be in town, shopping,” she said, and the agitation was plainly audible in her voice, “when I saw this terrible thing about Mr. Darcy’s wires and poor Sallie.  Is she in any danger, Colonel?”

“I believe not.”

“That’s good!  May I come to see you?  I have something important to ask you.”

“Yes, or I will come to see you, Miss Mason.”

“No, I had rather come to your hotel, if you will meet me in the ladies’ parlor.  It will be secluded enough at this time.”

And a little later Amy and the colonel were talking.  The girl’s haggard look told plainly of her distress.

“Tell me, frankly,” she begged, “doesn’t this make it look a little worse for Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes, Miss Mason, it does.  I had best be frank with you.  The prosecutor is bound to show that the presence of the wires, controlled by a switch from Mr. Darcy’s table, were so arranged that he might shock his cousin, or any one who put his hands on the showcase.  And they will, undoubtedly, argue that he planned this to make her insensible for his own purposes, whether it was that he did it in a fit of passion to kill her for his fancied troubles, or to cover up a robbery.  I am only making it thus bald that you may know and face the worst.”

“I appreciate that, and I thank you.  Then it does look bad for him?”