recognized by three persons. There's no doubt about it at all."
"Who saw him?" I said.
"Mrs. Scofield."
I laughed at that and it must have seemed mad to father. "Who else?" I asked him.
"The chauffeur."
I laughed again.
"And the butler," father finished.
I didn't laugh at that. I hadn't seen the butler but there was no reason for believing he was not in the game.
"They got him," I thought to myself. "They got old Win Scofield."
His life was not an invaluable one, as perhaps you have gathered; but that wasn't the point with me. They—his wife and other people close about him and upon whom he had a right to depend—had got him, and certainly in some low, treacherous way. No wonder Jerry had warned me to try and stop this; he'd told me he'd pick and choose, so when he took the risk of warning, he'd warn against a more than ordinary crime.
"Jerry killed Winton Scofield," my father repeated just then; and I came back at him now, "He didn't."
