“That was an accident—­his own carelessness.  He was carrying a tank of it for us.  Only his chauffeur’s presence of mind in throwing it into the shrubbery by the road saved his life and reputation.  No, young man; he was one of the manipulators, too.  But the chief of them was—­” She paused as if to enjoy one brief moment of triumph at least.  “The president of the company,” she added.

“No, no, no!” cried Maude Euston.

“Yes, yes, yes!  He does not dare deny it.  They were all in it.”

“Mrs. Labret—­you lie!” towered Lane, in a surging passion, as he stepped forward and shook his finger at her.  “You lie and you know it.  There is an old saying about the fury of a woman scorned.”  She paid no attention to him whatever.

“Maude Euston,” she hissed, as though Lane had been as inarticulate as the boxes of gold about, “you have saved your lover’s reputation—­perhaps.  At least the shipment is safe.  But you have ruined your father.  The deal will go through.  Already that has been arranged.  You may as well tell Kennedy to let us go and let the thing go through.  It involves more than us.”

Kennedy had been standing back a bit, carefully keeping them all covered.  He glanced a moment out of the corner of his eye at Maude Euston, but said nothing.

It was a terrible situation.  Had Lane really been in it?  That question was overshadowed by the mention of her father.  Impulsively she turned to Craig.

“Oh, save him!” she cried.  “Can’t anything be done to save my father in spite of himself?”

“It is too late,” mocked Mrs. Labret.  “People will read the account of the robbery in the papers, even if it didn’t take place.  They will see it before they see a denial.  Orders will flood in to sell the stock.  No; it can’t be stopped.”

Kennedy glanced momentarily at me.

“Is there still time to catch the last morning edition of the Star, Walter?” he asked, quietly.  I glanced at my watch.

“We may try.  It’s possible.”

“Write a despatch—­an accident to the engine—­train delayed—­now proceeding—­anything.  Here, Dugan, you keep them covered.  Shoot to kill if there’s a move.”

Kennedy had begun feverishly setting up the part of the apparatus which he had brought after Whiting had set up his.

“What can you do?” hissed Mrs. Labret.  “You can’t get word through.  Orders have been issued that the telegraph operators are under no circumstances to give out news about this train.  The wireless is out of commission, too—­the operator overcome.  The robbery story has been prepared and given out by this time.  Already reporters are being assigned to follow it up.”

I looked over at Kennedy.  If orders had been given for such secrecy by Barry Euston, how could my despatch do any good?  It would be held back by the operators.

Craig quickly slung a wire over those by the side of the track and seized what I had written, sending furiously.