olence that was an insult. His
eyes moved up and down the long, slim curves of her figure. "I expect
he could find a handsome reason if he looked around for it, Miss."

The girl's father clenched his fist. A flush of anger swept his ruddy
cheeks. He held himself, however, to the subject.

"You forget, Mr. Durand, that Lindsay was his guest last night."

Jerry's laugh was a contemptuous jeer. "That's right. I'd forgot
that. He was your guest, wasn't he, Bromfield?"

"What's the good of discussing it here?" asked the tortured host.

"Not a bit," admitted Whitford. "Actions talk, not words. Have you
seen the police yet, Bromfield?"

"N-not yet."

"What's he gonna see the police about?" Jerry wanted to know, his chin
jutting out.

"To tell them that he saw Collins draw a gun and heard shots fired,"
retorted the mining man instantly.

"Not what he's been tellin' me. He'll not pull any such story--not
unless he wants to put himself in a cell for life."

"Talk sense. You can't frighten Bromfield. He knows that's
foolishness."

"Does he?" The crook turned derisive eyes on the victim he was
torturing.

Certainly the society man did not look a picture of confidence. The
shadow of a heavy fear hung over him.

The telephone rang. Bromfield's trembling fingers picked up the
transmitter. He listened a moment, then turned it over to Beatrice.

"For you."

Her part of the conversation was limited. It consisted of the word
"Yes" repeated at intervals and a concluding, "Oh, I'm so glad. Thank
you." Her eyes were sparkling when she hung up.

"Good news, Dad," she said. "I'll tell you later."

Durand laughed brutally as he rose. "Good news, eh? Get all you can.
You'll need it. Take that from me. It's straight. Your friend's in
trouble up to the neck." He swaggered to the door and turned. "Don't
forget, Bromfield. Keep outa this or you'll be sorry." His voice was
like the crack of a trainer's whip to animals in a circus.

For once Bromfield did not jump through the hoop. "Oh, go to the
devil," he said in irritation, flushing angrily.

"Better not get gay with me," advised Durand sourly.

After the door had closed on him there was a momentary pause. The
younger man spoke awkwardly. "You can tell me now what it was Mr.
Lindsay told you."

"We'd like to know for sure whether you're with us or with Durand,"
said Whitford mildly. "Of course we know the answer to that. You're
with us.