Her intent face
showed no fear, no bewilderment, no actual emotion of any kind.

"You 've got 'o face it," said Blake, sitting back and waiting for her
to speak. His attitude was that of a physician at a bedside, awaiting
the prescribed opiate to produce its prescribed effect.

"Will I be dragged into this case, in any way, if Binhart is rounded
up?" the woman finally asked.

"Not once," he asserted.

"You promise me that?"

"Of course," answered the Second Deputy.

"And you 'll let me alone on--on the other things?" she calmly exacted.

"Yes," he promptly acknowledged. "I 'll see that you 're let alone."

Again she looked at him with her veiled and judicial eyes. Then she
dropped her hands into her lap. The gesture seemed one of resignation.

"Binhart's in Montreal," she said.

Blake, keeping his face well under control, waited for her to go on.

"He 's been in Montreal for weeks now. You 'll find him at 381 King
Edward Avenue, in Westmount. He 's there, posing as an expert
accountant."

She saw the quick shadow of doubt, the eye-flash of indecision. So she
reached quietly down and opened her pocket-book, rummaging through its
contents for a moment or two. Then she handed Blake a folded envelope.

"You know his writing?" she asked.

"I 've seen enough of it," he retorted, as he examined the typewritten
envelope post-marked "Montreal, Que." Then he drew out the inner
sheet. On it, written by pen, he read the message: "Come to 381 King
Edward when the coast is clear," and below this the initials "C. B."

Blake, with the writing still before his eyes, opened a desk drawer and
took out a large reading-glass. Through the lens of this he again
studied the inscription, word by word. Then he turned to the office
'phone on his desk.

"Nolan," he said into the receiver, "I want to know if there 's a King
Edward Avenue in Montreal."

He sat there waiting, still regarding the handwriting with stolidly
reproving eyes. There was no doubt of its authenticity. He would have
known it at a glance.

"Yes, sir," came the answer over the wire. "It's one of the newer
avenues in Westmount."

Blake, still wrapped in thought, hung up the receiver. The woman
facing him did not seem to resent his possible imputation of
dishonesty. To be suspicious of all with whom he came in contact was
imposed on him by his profession. He was compelled to watch even his
associates, his operatives and underlings, his f