"Um." The detective gave a little laugh that was totally devoid of mirth. "Yes, I'm going to be—human! I fought that battle all day yesterday! I find that Ocky means more to me than—than honor, to put it bluntly and melodramatically."
"Cheers!" cried the unscrupulous Mr. Krech. "Loud cheers!"
"I came to another decision," continued Creighton seriously, "one that is dictated by common decency if nothing else. This is my last case. My shingle is coming down forthwith. I haven't met the acid test. I've quit under fire. I'm a deserter from the ranks. I'm—through!" He shook his head as Krech started to protest. "No. Whatever happens, that is definitely settled."
"Whatever happens," repeated the big man musingly, the phrase recalling him to certain practical considerations. "Let's see. Jean and I know the truth; we're mum. Janet knows it; she's safe. How about Kitty Doyle? That young lady is sharper than a serpent's tooth, as I remember her! Suppose she tumbles to It? Will she join the conspiracy of silence?"
"I believe Kitty is a friend of mine," said Creighton, and added simply, "I'm singularly fortunate in my friends, Krech."
The next moment he jumped nervously as some one rapped gently on his door. He glanced at the big man appealingly, and sat down again on the edge of his bed.
"All right," grinned Krech. "Leave it to me!"
"A telegram for Mr. Creighton, sir," said Bates, as the door was opened to him. "The boy just brought it this minute."
"That must be something from Kitty now," muttered Creighton when the butler had gone. "Open it and read it, will you? My nerve has gone to pieces!" He shifted uneasily. "Hurry up!"
"Yes, it's from Kitty," confirmed Krech, opening the envelope and glancing at the signature on the message. "A long one, too. Here goes!" He held the paper under the lamp and began to read, casually at first, then rapidly as the import of the dispatch quickened his pulse.