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Mr. Cushmael, accompanied by an anxious young lady with crimson hair, called at the jail before noon.

“I’ll get you out,” cried Mr. Cushmael, shaking hands excitedly through the bars. “One policeman, he’ll explain it all to the other.”

“And there’s a surprise for you too,” added Edna softly, taking his other hand. “Mr. Cushmael’s got a big heart and he’s going to make you his day man now.”

“All right,” agreed Charles Stuart calmly. “But I can’t start till tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Because this afternoon I got to go to a matinee—with a friend.”

He relinquished his employer’s hand but kept Edna’s white fingers twined firmly in his.

“One more thing,” he went on in a strong, confident voice that was new to him, “if you want to get me off don’t have the case come up in the 35th Street court.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he answered with a touch of swagger in his voice, “that’s the judge I had when I was arrested last time.”

“Charles,” whispered Edna suddenly, “what would you do if I refused to go with you this afternoon?”