too. Leave your address and I'll send a man up later to
wise you as to the scheme when I get one fixed up."

On a sheet torn from his memorandum book Bromfield wrote the name of
the club which he most frequented.

"Don't forget the newspapers. I want them to get the story," said the
clubman, rising.

"I'll see they cover the raid."

Bromfield, massaging a glove on to his long fingers, added another word
of caution. "Don't slip up on this thing. Lindsay's a long way from
being a soft mark."

"Don't I know it?" snapped Durand viciously. "There'll be no slip-up
this time if you do your part. We'll get him, and we'll get him right."

"Without any violence, of course."

"Oh, of course."

Was there a covert but derisive jeer concealed in that smooth assent?
Bromfield did not know, but he took away with him an unease that
disturbed his sleep that night.

Before the clubman was out of the hotel, Jerry was snapping
instructions at one of his satellites.

"Tail that fellow. Find where he goes, who he is, what girl he's
mashed on, all about him. See if he's hooked up with Lindsay. And
how? Hop to it! Did you get a slant at him as he went out?"

"Sure I did. He's my meat."

The tailer vanished.

Jerry stood at the window, still sullenly chewing his unlighted cigar,
and watched his late visitor and the tailer lose themselves in the
hurrying crowds.

"White-livered simp. 'No violence, Mr. Durand.' Hmp! Different here."

An evil grin broke through on the thin-lipped, cruel face.

CHAPTER XXVIII

IN BAD

When Bromfield suggested to Clay with a touch of stiffness that he
would be glad to show him a side of New York night life probably still
unfamiliar to him, the cattleman felt a surprise he carefully
concealed. He guessed that this was a belated attempt on the part of
Miss Whitford's fiance to overcome the palpable dislike he had for her
friend. If so, the impulse that inspired the offer was a creditable
one. Lindsay had no desire to take in any of the plague spots of the
city with Bromfield. Something about the society man set his back up,
to use his own phrase. But because this was true he did not intend to
be outdone in generosity by a successful rival. Promptly and heartily
he accepted the invitation. If he had known that a note and a card
from Jerry Durand lay in the vest pocket of his cynical host while he
was holding out the olive branch, it is probable the Arizonan would
have