"Then you are Government agents?" he asked.
"That's it, sir."
He turned his head toward the door by which he had entered, for there was an altercation going on in the hallway and Mr. Conant's voice could be heard angrily protesting.
A moment later the lawyer came in, followed by the little man with the fat nose, who bowed to Colonel Weatherby very respectfully yet remained planted in the doorway.
"This is—er—er—very unfortunate, sir; ve-ry un-for-tu-nate!" exclaimed Peter Conant, chopping off each word with a sort of snarl. "These con-found-ed secret service people have trailed us here."
"It doesn't matter, Mr. Conant," replied the Colonel, in a voice composed but very weary. He seated himself in a chair, as he spoke, and Mary Louise sat on the arm of it, still embracing him.
"No," said O'Gorman, "it really doesn't matter, sir. In fact, I'm sure you will feel relieved to have this affair off your mind and be spared all further annoyance concerning it."
The old gentleman looked at him steadily but made no answer. It was
Peter Conant who faced the speaker and demanded:
"What do you mean by that statement?"
"Mr. Hathaway knows what I mean. He can, in a few words, explain why he has for years borne the accusation of a crime of which he is innocent."