nthropist out of the contemplation of a charitable deed.

Maison did not delve into the soul of things. The effect of his greed
on others he did not consider. That was selfishness, of course, but it
was a satisfying selfishness.

It did not occur to him that Mary Bransford, for instance, or
Sanderson--or anybody whom he robbed--could experience any emotion or
passion over their losses. They might feel resentful, to be sure; but
resentment could avail them little--and it didn't bring the dollars
back to them.

He chuckled. He was thinking of the Bransfords now--and Sanderson. He
had put a wolf on Sanderson's trail--he and Silverthorn; and Sanderson
would soon cease to bother him.

He chuckled again; and he sat in the chair at the desk, hugely enjoying
himself until the cigar was finished. Then he got up, locked the
doors, and went upstairs.

Peggy Nyland had not recovered consciousness. The woman who was caring
for the girl sat near an open window that looked out upon Okar's one
street when Maison entered the room.

Maison asked her if there was any change; was told there was not. He
stood for an instant at the window, mentally anathematizing Dale for
bringing the girl to his rooms, and for keeping her there; then he
dismissed the woman, who went down the stairs, opened the door that
Maison had locked, and went outside.

He stood for an instant longer at the window; then he turned and looked
down at Peggy, stretched out, still and white, on the bed.

Maison looked long at her, and decided it was not remarkable that Dale
had become infatuated with Peggy, for the girl was handsome.

Maison had never bothered with women, and he yielded to a suspicion of
sentiment as he looked down at Peggy. But, as always, the sentiment
was not spiritual.

Dale had intimated that the girl was his mistress. Well, he was bound
to acknowledge that Dale had good taste in such matters, anyway.

The expression of Maison's face was not good to see; there was a glow
in his eyes that, had Peggy seen it, would have frightened her.

And if Maison had been less interested in Peggy, and with his thoughts
of Dale, he would have heard the slight sound at the door; he would
have seen Ben Nyland standing there in the deepening dusk, his eyes
aflame with the wild and bitter passions of a man who had come to kill.

Maison did not see, nor did he hear until Ben leaped for him. Then
Maison heard him, felt his presence, and realized his