“Of course not, Eunice.  He was in Boston, you know.”

“Yes, I know.  But—­Mason, he hinted to me just now, that that maybe you killed San.”

“Did he, dear?  Then he was angry or—­or crazy!  He doesn’t think so.  Perhaps he was—­very jealous.”

“Yes, he was!  How did you know?”

“I have eyes.  You don’t care for him—­particularly—­do you —­Eunice?”

Their eyes met and in one long look, the truth was told.  A great love existed between these two, and both had been honest and honorable so long as Eunice was Sanford’s wife.  And even now, though Embury was gone, Elliott made no protestation of love to his widow—­said no word that might not have been heard by the whole world, but they both knew—­no word was necessary.

A beautiful expression came over Eunice’s face—­she smiled a little and the love-light in her eyes was unmistakable.

“I shall never lose my temper again,” she said, softly, and Mason Elliott believed her.

“Another big debtor to Sanford is Mr. Patterson,” he went on, forcing himself to calm his riotous pulses, and continue his business talk.

“How is that man mixed into our affars?”

“He’s very much mixed up in San’s affairs.  But, Eunice, I don’t want to burden you with all these details.  Only, you see, Alvord is your lawyer, and—­it’s confoundedly awkward—­”

“Look here, Mason, do this—­can’t you?  Forgive Alvord all Sanford’s claims on him.  I mean, wipe the slate clean, as far as he is concerned.  I don’t want his money—­I mean I don’t want to keep his stocks and things.  Give them all back to him, and hush the matter up.  You know, we four, Sanford and Alvord and you and I, are the old quartet—­the ‘three boys and a girl’ who used to play together.  Now one of us is gone—­don’t let’s make any trouble for another of the group.  I’ve enough money without realizing on Alvord’s securities.  Give them all back to him—­and forget it.  Can’t we?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so—­if you so decree.  What about Patterson?”

“Oh, those things you and Alvord must look after.  I’ve no head for business.  And anyway—­must it be attended to at once?”

“Not immediately.  Sanford’s estate is so large, and his debtors so numerous, it will take months to get it adjusted.”

“Very well, let anything unpleasant wait for a while, then.”

Now, on this very day, and at this very hour, Fibsy was in Philadelphia, watching the initial performance of a new “human fly.”

A crowd was gathered about the tall skyscraper, where the event was to take place, and when Hanlon appeared he was greeted by a roar, of cheering that warmed his applause-loving heart.

Bowing and smiling at his audience, he started on his perilous climb up the side of the building.

The sight was thrilling—­nerve-racking.  Breathlessly the people watched as he climbed up the straight, sheer facade, catching now at a window ledge—­now at a bit of stone ornamentation—­and again, seeming to hold on by nothing at all—­almost as a real fly does.