iness,
_pronto_."

"Yes, it might," admitted Peter ruminatively.

"Sure it will--but we'll give him chance. Are y' on?" he asked.

Peter was silent for a moment. And then,

"I don't see why you want that paper of McGuire's," he said. "They're
exactly alike, you say--both incriminating. And if you've got your paper
handy----"

Peter paused but Kennedy was in the act of swallowing another glass of
whisky and he didn't stop to answer the half-formulated query. He gave a
gasp of satisfaction and then shrugged.

"No use, Pete," he said huskily. "I said I had paper and I _have_ paper
handy, but I've got to have McGuire's paper too. I ain't got money and
spotless rep'tation like Mike McGuire but I don't want paper like that
floatin' roun' universh with _my_ name signed to it."

"I don't blame you," said Peter dryly.

Hawk Kennedy was talking thickly now and spilled the whisky in trying to
pour out a new glassful.

"Goo' whisky this--goo' ole whisky, Pete. Goo' ole Peter. Say, you'll
get pater, Peep--I mean Peter pape--Oh H---- Paper. _You_ know."

"I'll have to think about it, Jim."

"Can't think when yer drunk, Pete," he muttered with an expiring grin.
"To-morr'. 'Nother drink an' then we'll go sleep. Don't mind my sleepin'
here, Pete. Nice plache shleep. Goo' old shleep...."

Peter paused in the act of pouring out another drink for him and then at
a sound from Kennedy set the bottle down again. The man suddenly
sprawled sideways in the chair, his head back, snoring heavily. Peter
watched him for a moment, sure that he couldn't be shamming and then
looked around the disordered room. Hawk's overcoat and hat lay on the
bed. On tiptoe Peter got up and examined them carefully, watching the
man in the chair intently the while. Hawk stirred but did not awaken.
Peter searched the overcoat inch by inch. There was nothing in the
pockets, but a tin of tobacco and a Philadelphia newspaper. So Peter
restored the articles and then hung the hat and coat on the nails behind
the door. Hawk Kennedy did not move. He was dead drunk.

The repulsive task of searching the recumbent figure now lay before him.
But the game had been worth the candle. If the fateful confession was
anywhere in Hawk's clothing Peter meant to find it and yet even now he
hesitated. He put the whisky bottle away, cleared up the mess and then
bodily picked his visitor up and carried him to the bed. Hawk muttered
something in his sleep but fell prone and imme