r a few minutes then John
Steele wrote, looking up between words. His head bent now closer to the
paper, then drew back from it, as if through a slight uncertainty of
vision or because of the dim light. The fellow's eyes, watching him,
lowered.

"You know--none better!--that on that particular night some one
else--some one besides the 'Frisco Pet--entered your mother's house?"

Oaths mingled with low filchers' slang; but the reply was forthcoming;
other questions, too, were answered tentatively; sometimes at length,
with repulsive fullness of detail. The speaker hesitated over words,
shot sharp, short looks at the other; from the hand that wrote, to the
fingers near that other object,--strong, firm fingers that seemed ready
to leap; ready to act on any emergency. Unless--a shadow appeared to
pass over the broad, white brow, the motionless hand to waver, ever so
little. Then quickly the hand moved, rested on the brown handle of the
weapon, enveloped it with light careless grasp.

"You can state of your own knowledge what happened next?" John Steele
spoke sharply; the fellow's red brows suddenly lifted.

"Oh, yes," he replied readily.

John Steele's manner became shorter; his questions were put fast; he
forced quick replies. He not only seemed striving to get through his
task as soon as possible; but always to hold the other's attention, to
permit his brain no chance to wander from the subject to any other. But
the fellow seemed now to have become as tractable as before he had been
sullen, stubborn; gave his version in his own vernacular, always keenly
attentive, observant of the other's every motion. His strength had
apparently returned; he seemed little the worse for his late encounter.
At length came an interval; just for an instant John Steele's eyes shut;
the fingers that had held the pen closed on the edge of the table. A
quick passing expression of ferocity hovered at the corners of the
observer's thick lips; he got up; at the same time John Steele rose and
stepped abruptly back.

"You know how to write your name?" His voice was firm, unwavering; the
revolver had disappeared from the table and lay now in his pocket.

"All right, gov'ner!" The other spoke with alacrity. "I'm game; a
bargain is a bargain, and I'll take your word for it," leaning over and
laboriously tracing a few letters on the paper. "You'll do your part.
You'll find me square and above board, although you did use me a little
rough. There, h