ant to play her a lone
hand."

"I am afraid I wouldn't be interested in that sort of project," said
Maison.

The thought that Maison _would_ be interested--not publicly, but
privately--made Sanderson grin. The grin angered Maison; he arose
smiling coldly.

"I am sorry to have taken your time, Mr. Bransford," he said,
dismissing his visitor.

Sanderson did not give up. "My father left some money in your bank,"
he said; "I'll take it."

"Certainly," said the banker. He got a withdrawal blank and laid it
before Sanderson.

"The amount is three thousand two hundred," he said. "Just fill that
out and sign your name and yon can have the money."

Sanderson did not sign; he sat, looking at the blank, suddenly
afflicted with the knowledge that once more the troublesome "Bransford"
signature had placed him in a dilemma.

Undoubtedly Maison, Silverthorn, and Dale were confederates in this
matter, and Dale's insistence that he sign the register claim was a
mere subterfuge to obtain a copy of the Bransford signature in order to
make trouble for him. It occurred to Sanderson that the men suspected
him, and he grinned coldly as he raised his eyes to Maison.

Maison was watching him, keenly; and his flush when he saw Sanderson
looking at him convinced the latter that his suspicions were not
without foundation.

If Sanderson could have known that he had hardly left the hotel when a
man whispered to Maison; and that Maison had said to the man: "All
right, I'll go down and wait for him," Sanderson could not have more
accurately interpreted Maison's flush.

Sanderson's grin grew grim. "It's a frame-up," he told himself. His
grin grew saturnine. He got up, folded the withdrawal blank and stuck
it in a pocket.

"I'm leavin' the money here tonight," he said. "For a man that ain't
been to town in a long while, there'd be too many temptations yankin'
at me."

He went out, leaving Maison to watch him from a window, a flush of
chagrin on his face.

Sanderson walked down the street toward the hotel. He would have Owen
sign the withdrawal blank before morning--that would defeat Maison's
plan to gain evidence of the impersonation.

Sanderson had not been gone from Silverthorn's office more than five
minutes when Dale entered. Silverthorn was sitting at his desk
scowling, his face pale with big, heavy lines in it showing the strain
of his interview with Sanderson.

"Bransford's been here!" guessed Dale, looking at