've brought you a cell mate, Shiny," explained one of the guards.
"You want to be civil to him. He's just croaked a friend of yours."

"For de love o' Gawd. Who did he croak?"

"'Slim' Jim Collins. Cracked him one on the bean and that was
a-plenty. Hope you'll enjoy each other's society, gents." The guard
closed the door and departed.

"Is that right? Did youse do up 'Slim,' or was he kiddin' me?"

"I don't reckon we'll discuss that subject," said Clay blandly, but
with a note of finality in his voice.

"No offense, boss. It's an honor to have so distinguished a gent for a
cell pal. For that matter I ain't no cheap rat myself. Dey pinched me
for shovin' de queer. I'd ought to get fifteen years," he said proudly.

This drew a grin from Lindsay, though not exactly a merry one. "If
you're anxious for a long term you can have some of mine," he told the
counterfeiter.

"Maybe youse'll go up Salt Creek," said Shiny hopefully.

Afraid the allusion might not be understood, he thoughtfully explained
that this was the underworld term for the electric chair.

Clay made no further comment. He found the theme a gruesome one.

"Anyhow, I'm glad dey didn't put no hoister nor damper-getter wit' me.
I'm partickler who I meet. De whole profesh is gettin' run down at de
heel. I'm dead sick of rats who can't do nothin' but lift pokes,"
concluded the occupant of the lower berth with disgust.

Though Clay's nerves were of the best he did very little sleeping that
night. He was in a grave situation. Even if he had a fair field his
plight would be serious enough. But he guessed that during the long
hours of darkness Durand was busy weaving a net of false evidence from
which he could scarcely disentangle himself. Unless Bromfield came
forward at once as a witness for him, his case would be hopeless--and
Clay suspected that the clubman would prove only a broken reed as a
support. The fellow was selfish to the core. He had not, in the
telling Western phrase, the guts to go through. He would take the line
of least resistance.

Beatrice was in his thoughts a great deal. What would she think of him
when the news came that he was a murderer, caught by the police in a
den of vice where he had no business to be? Some deep instinct of his
soul told him that she would brush through the evidence to the
essential truth. She had failed him once. She would never do it
again. He felt sure of that.

The gray morning bro