you introduce us, Clarendon?"
he asked bluntly.

Reluctantly their host went through the formula. He was extremely
uneasy. There was material for an explosion present in this room that
would blow him sky-high if a match should be applied to it. Let Durand
get to telling what he knew about Clarendon and the Whitfords would
never speak to him again. They might even spread a true story that
would bar every house and club in New York to him.

"We've heard of Mr. Durand," said Beatrice.

Her tone challenged the attention of the gang leader. The brave eyes
flashed defiance straight at him. A pulse of anger was throbbing in
the soft round throat.

Inscrutably he watched her. It was his habit to look hard at
attractive women. "Most people have," he admitted.

"Mr. Lindsay is our friend," she said. "We've just come from seeing
him."

The man to whom she was engaged had been put through so many flutters
of fear during the last twelve hours that a new one more or less did
not matter. But he was still not shock-proof. His fingers clutched a
little tighter the arm of the chair.

"W-what did he tell you?"

Beatrice looked into his eyes and read in them once more stark fear.
Again she had a feeling that there was something about the whole affair
she had not yet fathomed--some secret that Clay and Clarendon and
perhaps this captain of thugs knew.

She tried to read what he was hiding, groped in her mind for the key to
his terror. What could it be that he was afraid Clay had told her?
What was it they all knew except Lindsay's friends? And why, since
Clarendon was trembling lest it be discovered, should the Arizonan too
join the conspiracy of silence? At any rate she would not uncover her
hand.

"He told us several things," she said significantly. "You've got to
make open confession, Clary."

The ex-pugilist chewed his cigar and looked at her.

"What would he confess? That the man with him murdered Collins?"

"That's not true," said the girl quickly.

"So Lindsay's your friend, eh? Different here, Miss." Jerry pieced
together what the clubman had told him and what he had since learned
about her. He knew that this must be the girl to whom his host was
engaged. "How about you, Bromfield?" he sneered.

The clubman stiffened. "I've nothing against Mr. Lindsay."

"Thought you had."

"Of course he hasn't. Why should he?" asked Beatrice, backing up
Clarendon.

Durand looked at her with a bold ins