else out of me—except that she is a perfectly lovely young woman, and your money couldn't be safer with the president of the United States."
The puzzled professor of Comparative Literature caressed his bald head thoughtfully. "I—er—" he remarked. Mr. Magee could have embraced this faded woman for her news. He looked at his watch. It was twelve-twenty.
"The siege is over," he cried. "I shall not attempt to direct your actions any longer. Mr. Peters, will you please go down to the village and bring back Mr. Quimby and the coroner?"
"The coroner!" The mayor of Reuton jumped to his feet. "I don't want to be in on any inquest scene. Come on, Max, let's get out of here."
Bland stood up, his face was white and worried, his gay plumage no longer set the tone for his mood.
"I think I'll go, too," he announced, looking hopefully at Magee.
"I'm no longer your jailer," Magee said. "Professor, these gentlemen are your witnesses. Do you wish to detain them?"
"See here," cried the mayor angrily, "there
