"Please tell Mr. Wetherby to come to the 'phone."
"Who are you?"
"His son Tom; I want to speak to father."
Presently Mr. Wetherby called back, "Well, Tom, what is it? Hurry up; I'm busy!"
"Father," shouted Tom, his voice betraying the excitement he was under. "I must go to Whitonville to-night. I think I've got something which will help Will Vaughan's friend who is accused of robbing the bank."
"My son, hadn't you better wait until I get home and talk the matter over with you?"
"Can't wait, father; to-day is the 17th; Wentworth's trial takes place to-morrow. The only train which would get me there by noon to-morrow leaves at four o'clock this afternoon—about an hour from now."
Buzz-z-z went the 'phone.
Mr. Wetherby was probably thinking about it. He knew Tom was a pretty level headed young man, and felt convinced that his son had something of material importance to the case.
The break seemed an age to Tom, and he called over the 'phone impatiently,