“How do you know this?” he asked, gravely.
“I overheard them plotting.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Arthur and Mr. McNamara.” She faced him squarely as she said it, and therefore saw the light flame up in his eyes as he cried:
“And you came here to save me—came here at the risk of your good name?”
“Of course. I would have done the same for Dextry.” The gladness died away, leaving him listless.
“Well, let them come. I’m done, I guess. I heard from Wheaton to-night. He’s down and out, too—some trouble with the ’Frisco courts about jurisdiction over these cases. I don’t know that it’s worth while to fight any longer.”
“Listen,” she said. “You must go. I am sure there is a terrible wrong being done, and you and I must stop it. I have seen the truth at last, and you’re in the right. Please hide for a time at least.”
“Very well. If you have taken sides with us there’s some hope left. Thank you for the risk you ran in warning me.”
She had moved to the front of the compartment and was peering forth between the draperies when she stifled a cry.