l, or under bail."

"If you lived nine lives," George commented, "you'd never be able to
intimidate me."

Yet the other's manner troubled, and George's doubtful curiosity grew as
he watched Dalrymple commence to draw the strings of the mask.

Dalrymple put down his hat and cane, bent swiftly, placed the palms of
his hands on the desk, stared at George, his face inflamed, his eyes
choked with malicious exultation.

"Your blackmail," he cried, "is knocked into a cocked hat. I married
Sylvia half an hour ago."

Before George's response he lost some of his colour, drew back warily;
but George had no thought of attacking him; it was too late now. That
was why he experienced a dreadful realization of defeat, for a moment
let through a flickering impression of the need for violence, but--and
Dalrymple couldn't be expected to understand that--violence against
George Morton who had let this situation materialize, who experienced,
tumbling about his head, the magnificent but incomplete efforts of many
years. That sensation of boundless, imponderable wreckage crushing upon
him sent him back to his chair where for a moment he sat, sunk down,
stripped of his power and his will.

And Dalrymple laughed, enjoying it.

In George's overwhelmed brain that laughter started an awakening
clamour.

"What difference does the money make now?" Dalrymple jibed. "And she'll
believe nothing else you may tell her, and violence would only make a
laughing stock of you. It's done."

"How was it done?" George whispered.

"No objections to amusing you," Dalrymple mocked. "Lambert interfered
last night, and spoiled his own game by dragging you in. By gad, she has
got it in for you! Don't see why you ever thought----Anyway, she agreed
right enough then, and I didn't need to explain it was wiser, seeing how
Lambert felt about it, and her father, and you, of all people, to get
the thing over without any brass bands. Had a bit of luck ducking the
reporters at the license bureau. Tied the knot half an hour ago. She's
gone home to break the glad news."

He grinned.

"But I thought it only decent to jump the subway and tell you your
filthy money's all right and that you can plant a tombstone on your
pound of flesh."

He laughed again.

In George's brain the echoes of Dalrymple's triumph reverberated more
and more intelligibly. Little by little during the recital his slumped
attitude had altered.

"In a way! In a way! In a way!" had sung thro