ir of ecru gloves for the cable.

"You know me," he began again in his deliberate and abdominal bass.
"And I know you. I 've got 'o get this man Binhart. I 've got 'o! He
's been out for seven months, now, and they 're going to put it up to
me, to _me_, personally. Copeland tried to get him without me. He
fell down on it. They all fell down on it. And now they're going to
throw the case back on me. They think it 'll be my Waterloo."

He laughed. His laugh was as mirthless as the cackle of a guinea hen.
"But I 'm going to die hard, believe me! And if I go down, if they
think they can throw me on that, I 'm going to take a few of my friends
along with me."

"Is that a threat?" was the woman's quick inquiry. Her eyes narrowed
again, for she had long since learned, and learned it to her sorrow,
that every breath he drew was a breath of self-interest.

"No; it's just a plain statement." He slewed about in his swivel
chair, throwing one thick leg over the other as he did so. "I hate to
holler Auburn at a girl like you, Elsie; but I 'm going--"

"Auburn?" she repeated very quietly. Then she raised her eyes to his.
"Can you say a thing like that to me, Jim?"

He shifted a little in his chair. But he met her gaze without a wince.

"This is business, Elsie, and you can't mix business and--and other
things," he tailed off at last, dropping his eyes.

"I 'm sorry you put it that way," she said. "I hoped we 'd be better
friends than that!"

"I'm not counting on friendship in this!" he retorted.

"But it might have been better, even in this!" she said. And the
artful look of pity on her face angered him.

"Well, we 'll begin on something nearer home!" he cried.

He reached down into his pocket and produced a small tinted oblong of
paper. He held it, face out, between his thumb and forefinger, so that
she could read it.

"This Steinert check 'll do the trick. Take a closer look at the
signature. Do you get it?"

"What about it?" she asked, without a tremor.

He restored the check to his wallet and the wallet to his pocket. She
would find it impossible to outdo him in the matter of impassivity.

"I may or I may not know who forged that check. I don't _want_ to
know. And when you tell me where Binhart is, I _won't_ know."

"That check was n't forged," contended the quiet-eyed woman.

"Steinert will swear it was," declared the Second Deputy.

She sat without speaking, apparently in deep study.