I only fear later a discovery of his murder, and, if so, thank God! it will be a cypress wreath; not the stain of dishonor, or the brand of the felon.

I am yours, to the last." As Witherspoon said "Good night" to the little picture of Francine Delacroix, which was his household goddess, he swore an oath of fidelity.

"It may leave me poor, separate us for years; but Clayton, dead or alive, shall be found.

The Detroit package may unravel a part of this mystery." It was high noon the next day when Arthur Ferris had completed his arrangements for the hasty trip West.

Jack Witherspoon sat in Ferris' private office, stunned with the news of Hugh Worthington's death at Pasco.
For the operator there had loyally sent on to Ferris the first news of the millionaire's demise in laconic words, "Died at ten o'clock, fully conscious.