Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 51, No. 2, June 28, 1930

“No! That it happens to be she who must suffer is your misfortune, not my fault. Her father was guilty!”

Hal jerked at his fettered wrists. His eyes narrowed to slits, glimmering with a chill, desperate purpose.

“I’ll kill you for murdering my father!” he promised huskily. “But if you touch that girl in there, you madman, I’ll torture you to death! I’ll follow you until I get you, as you followed them!”

For an instant Wallace hesitated; then he shrugged.

“The two cases are not the same, Evans. Wait and watch.”

Chapter XXV The Last Stand

When Dorothy reached the offices of her father’s lawyer that afternoon her detective escort left her. She was admitted at once. Elder was conferring with a man past middle age. He greeted her warmly, then asked leave to present Judge Moreland.

Dorothy saw a rather stern-looking man of great natural dignity. The sternness was modified by his smile.

“So this is Dorothy!” he echoed the introduction. “Pardon my familiarity. You had been eating mud pies when I last saw you.”

Dorothy laughed. “My passion for mud pies has faded.”

“Has Mr. Elder told you that we are closely related?” asked the judge. “I don’t — quite understand.”

“Your father asked me to be your godfather and I accepted the honor, promising to come to your aid in time of need. Not every one takes such a promise seriously. But I have always managed to keep my word, Miss Hearn.”

Dorothy smiled uncertainly. Judge Moreland nodded.

“When I heard of your father’s death I came up from Baltimore, where I have been living in retirement. I am without other ties. You must not hesitate to let me keep my word to poor Ben. Mr. Elder tells me that your affairs are in a muddle. That won’t do. I hope you will let me take your future into my hands. I am a just man, Miss Hearn. It will be a pleasure to me.”

Dorothy was touched, so touched that her eyes filled with quick tears.

“You’re awfully kind,” she said. “But — we’re quite strangers. I have no claim on your kindness, Judge Moreland. Playing godfather to a child is no more than a pretty custom.”

“It is more to me. Only some fifteen years have passed since you were kind to a bachelor who was rather at a loss in your presence. You put me at ease by presenting me with a large piece of sticky candy. What’s more, I ate it!

“I’ve asked Mr. Elder to prepare for me a statement of your financial position,” he continued. “While his clerk is at it, will you join me at lunch, so that I can apologize for taking such a liberty?”

“So that you can use your legal skill to override my objections!” she corrected, smiling. “Well, I accept the invitation to lunch. For the other, I don’t see why—”

“The lunch is all I ask,” replied the judge gravely, “until we are better acquainted, Miss Hearn.”

He rose and held out his arm in a courtly way.

Dorothy accepted it with a small brown hand, warming to the obscure sadness she read in his face.

Down in the street, Judge Moreland called a taxi and helped her into it. They drove to another large building farther uptown. Here, the judge explained, he had told his chauffeur to meet him.

He dismissed the taxi and looked about for his car.

“The rascal isn’t here,” he smiled. “Probably he is waiting at the other entrance.”

He led her through the long foyer toward the next street. As they trod the tiled floor side by side, Dorothy felt a surge of gratitude to her escort. In his position, not one man in a million would have considered himself obligated to help her. An upright judge, she mused. He had called himself a just man, not a generous one. What a quaint point of view!

Almost as soon as they appeared in the street beyond, a big, dark-blue limousine drew up at the curb. The chauffeur jumped down to open the door. About to slip lithely into the tonneau, Dorothy’s finer instinct made her wait to allow the judge to hand her in.

He took his place at her side. The door slammed. The driver hopped back to his place. As the car drew swiftly away from the curb, Dorothy turned to smile at her companion.

At that instant she felt a sharp pain in her arm and uttered a little cry of surprise.

Judge Moreland looked his concern.

“What is it, my dear?” he inquired anxiously.

“I pricked my arm on something!” she exclaimed. “Why — I feel quite ill—”

Darkness swooped down upon her senses. She did not even feel the judge slip his arm about her waist and draw her nodding head to rest against his shoulder.

Later, she was dimly aware of a shout and a grinding crash. She tried to stir. Something stung her arm. Again she lost consciousness.

Her next impression was very shadowy. She thought some one was carrying her — an interminable distance—

She felt herself laid on a resilient surface and drowsily opened her eyes.

Close above her floated a black and dreadful face. She tried to scream, but could manage no more than a pitiful murmur of fright. A third time came the pain in her arm and again she fell asleep.