“I know.”  He patted her in a way that said more than words.

“I couldn’t have stood out much longer.”

“Then you have proof?” His face was wild with eagerness.

“This.  Take it quickly.  I only found it last night.  It had been mislaid in the confusion.  I meant to give it up, I really did.”  With clumsy fingers she drew from the front of her dress an unsealed letter and handed it to him.  “Stephen was not a bad man, you see, and he had no intention of wronging an innocent person.”

Darwin K. Anthony’s pallor matched hers as he read the sheet, then he exclaimed, weakly, “Thank God!  Something told me to come straight to you.  Something always tells me where to find the heart of things.”

“Quick!  You must lose no time,” she exclaimed.  “He is in prison, and the place is frightful.  I will go with you to the Mayor.  Ah, I’m very glad he will get his freedom from your hands.  I was so weak.  When this is done I shall go back North and try to live it out.  But I love him very dearly, Mr. Anthony.”  Her lip trembled piteously.  “And I could have done so much for him.”

Grim-faced and scowling he re-read the letter in his hand during the moment it required for Edith to make ready.  The injustice that had been done his blood roused every passion in him.  He had himself well in hand, however, and he restrained his yearning to burst forcibly into the police barracks and take his boy to his heart.  He determined there should be no possible slip—­and he longed ferociously to meet Ramon Alfarez.

Kirk was considerably surprised that afternoon when a sergeant and two policemen came to his cell, signifying that he was to accompany them.  He could not make out where they were taking him, and, despite their unusual politeness, they were dense to all inquiries.  It was a bright, hot afternoon, and the city seemed very beautiful and desirous as he was driven through it; but the whole procedure filled him with uneasiness.  He was sure that it had nothing to do with his trial, or Anson would have posted him, and he began to fear that it might concern his marriage.  Perhaps Chiquita was ill, dying, or perhaps they were trying to annul the bond.  The smiling little officer only shook his head, shrugged, and chattered unintelligibly at his questions.

The coach drew up at last before a large, white building, and he was told to descend.  Up a flight of stairs he was escorted, his pulses quickening with apprehension, down a long corridor, and into a large room, where he saw Runnels, Colonel Jolson, Anson, Clifford, a dozen or more Panamanian officials, and—­he stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell upon a huge, white-crowned figure that came to meet him.  His heart leaped wildly, a great drumming set up in his ears, something gripped his throat with agonizing pressure and robbed him of speech.