CHAPTER IV
GARTH BUYS A BOUTONNIÈRE
GARTH wondered if relief would ever come. He was afraid that the slip of frayed white paper must have gone astray. Otherwise, it seemed to him, it would have brought help even before he had sounded his shrill alarm.
He glanced at Nora. She had placed her hand on his arm. She gazed at the open door.
"I thought I heard—"
Then Garth heard, too—a tramping in the house, a struggle outside the door, a voice whose roar betrayed excitement and triumph.
"Where's Garth?"
The door filled with men in uniform.
Nora covered her face with her hands and turned away. With a start Garth grasped the reason. Planning vaguely, he arose and leaned over the prostrate figure of George. The man breathed. The wound was in the shoulder and appeared of little real consequence. He straightened to find the inspector standing over him with a look of pleasure. It hurt Garth to think of that expression's vanishing for one of unbelief and revolt.
"This fellow will stand his trial," he said.
