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Bones, caught, changed his tone abruptly. "Don't pay any attention to them," he begged. "They're a bunch of half-wits." He got up and began to stalk about the room aimlessly as he talked. "I suppose I may as well tell you, because as soon as you felt a little less low in your mind Carey Brown was going to have a talk with you about it, anyway." Carey Brown was head of the fraternity. "The fact is, Jock—well, remember what I told you back in the fall about you and Mrs. Hathaway?"

"I sure do," said Jock, and felt queerly chilled all of a sudden.

"Well, there's an impression around college now that you're connected with Brad's death in some way—oh hell, Jock, don't look like that! Don't get me wrong. Nobody thinks you—what I mean, everybody knows he shot himself, there's no doubt about that. But they think he did it on account of jealousy, because he came in late at night and found you there with his wife. You see, Ken Kennedy answered the 'phone when she called you—he recognized her voice. And then he heard you say, 'He's not there? All right, I'll be right over'—or something like that. And he's gone blabbing it around. And nobody knew what time you came in—" Bones was painfully embarrassed, his face on fire. "Jees, I hate to tell you this, Jock! It's a stinking shame——"

"Oh well," Jock said, striving for a light tone, "that's the breaks you get." His perceptions were coldly clear. Of course. Circumstantial evidence. Ken had called him to the 'phone that night. Ken had said, meaningly, 'Sounds like your friend Mrs. Hathaway.' Ken had listened while he talked to Eunice. . . . It seemed to Jock that he could see Ken yet with the eyes of his recollection, standing in the dining-room