ou where he can't reach you. Just sign your
name to this paper, Mr. Eaton."

"I didn't agree. I didn't say I would."

"Sign here. Or, wait one moment, till I get witnesses." Harley touched
a bell, and his secretary appeared in the doorway. "Ask Mr. Mott and
young Jarvis to step this way."

Harley held out the pen toward Eaton, looking steadily at him. In a
strong man the human eye is a sword among weapons. Eaton quailed. The
fingers of the unhappy wretch went out mechanically for the pen. He was
sweating terror and remorse, but the essential weakness of the man
could not stand out unbacked against the masterful force of this man's
imperious will. He wrote his name in the places directed, and flung
down the pen like a child in a rage.

"Now get me out of Montana before Ridgway knows," he cried brokenly.

"You may leave to-morrow night, Mr. Eaton. You'll only have to appear
in court once personally. We'll arrange it quietly for to-morrow
afternoon. Ridgway won't know until it is done and you are gone."

CHAPTER 20. A LITTLE LUNCH AT APHONSE'S

It chanced that Ridgway, through the swinging door of a department
store, caught a glimpse of Miss Balfour as he was striding along the
street. He bethought him that it was the hour of luncheon, and that she
was no end better company than the revamped noon edition of the morning
paper. Wherefore he wheeled into the store and interrupted her
inspection of gloves.

"I know the bulliest little French restaurant tucked away in a side
street just three blocks from here. The happiness disseminated in this
world by that chef's salads will some day carry him past St. Peter with
no questions asked."

"You believe in salvation by works?" she parried, while she considered
his invitation.

"So will you after a trial of Alphonse's salad."

"Am I to understand that I am being invited to a theological discussion
of a heavenly salad concocted by Father Alphonse?"

"That is about the specifications."

"Then I accept. For a week my conscience has condemned me for excess of
frivolity. You offer me a chance to expiate without discomfort. That is
my idea of heaven. I have always believed it a place where one pastures
in rich meadows of pleasure, with penalties and consciences all
excluded from its domains."

"You should start a church," he laughed. "It would have a great
following--especially if you could operate your heaven this side of the
Styx."

She found his restaurant all h