“What kind of trouble?”

“I had a letter from George Granger yesterday.”

“What!” The color went out of the lady’s face.

“A letter from George Granger.  He wished to see me.”

“Did you go?”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

Freeling took a deep breath, and sighed.  His manner was troubled.

“What did he want?” Mrs. Dinneford repeated the question.

“He’s as sane as you or I,” said Freeling.

“Is he?  Oh, very well!  Then let him go to the State’s prison.”  Mrs. Dinneford said this with some bravado in her manner.  But the color did not come back to her face.

“He has no idea of that,” was replied.

“What then?” The lady leaned toward Freeling.  Her hands moved nervously.

“He means to have the case in court again, but on a new issue.”

“He does!”

“Yes; says that he’s innocent, and that you and I know it—­that he’s the victim of a conspiracy, and that we are the conspirators!”

“Talk!—­amounts to nothing,” returned Mrs. Dinneford, with a faint little laugh.

“I don’t know about that.  It’s ugly talk, and especially so, seeing that it’s true.”

“No one will give credence to the ravings of an insane criminal.”

“People are quick to credit an evil report.  They will pity and believe him, now that the worst is reached.  A reaction in public feeling has already taken place.  He has one or two friends left who do not hesitate to affirm that there has been foul play.  One of these has been tampering with a clerk of mine, and I came upon them with their heads together on the street a few days ago, and had my suspicions aroused by their startled look when they saw me.”

“‘What did that man want with you?’ I inquired, when the clerk came in.

“He hesitated a moment, and then replied, ’He was asking me something about Mr. Granger.’

“‘What about him?’ I queried.  ’He asked me if I knew anything in regard to the forgery,’ he returned.

“I pressed him with questions, and found that suspicion was on the right track.  This friend of Granger’s asked particularly about your visits to the store, and whether he had ever noticed anything peculiar in our intercourse—­anything that showed a familiarity beyond what would naturally arise between a customer and salesman.”

“There’s nothing in that,” said Mrs. Dinneford.  “If you and I keep our own counsel, we are safe.  The testimony of a condemned criminal goes for nothing.  People may surmise and talk as much as they please, but no one knows anything about those notes but you and I and George.”

“A pardon from the governor may put a new aspect on the case.”

“A pardon!” There was a tremor of alarm in Mrs. Dinneford’s voice.

“Yes; that, no doubt, will be the first move.”

“The first move!  Why, Mr. Freeling, you don’t think anything like this is in contemplation?”