his gaze and finally rested on the figure on the leather
office couch. Then, while Fremont watched him curiously,
he went back to the corridor door and stood against it.

"You've got your nerve!" he said, then. "You're nervy, but
you ain't got good sense, doin' a think like that with the
shades up, the lights on, an' the door unlocked. What did
you go an' do it for?"

The sinister meaning of the words took form in the mind of
the boy instantly. For the first time he realized that he
would be accused of the crime, and that circumstances would
be against him. If Mr. Cameron should never recover
sufficiently to give a true account of what had taken place,
he would be arrested and locked up as the guilty one.

If his benefactor should die without regaining consciousness,
he might even be sent to the electric chair, and always his
name would be mentioned with horror. While these thoughts
were passing through the dazed mind of the boy, there came,
also, the keen regret that Frank Shaw had not accompanied
him to the building. That would have changed everything--just
one witness.

"What did you go an' do it for?" repeated the intruder. "What
had Mr. Cameron ever done to you?"

"You think I did it?" said Fremont, as cooly as his excitement
would permit of. "You think I struck Mr. Cameron and robbed
the office?"