ided this
isn't a dirty paper. If it is a dirty paper, and you want me to serve
you, keep your tongue to yourself. You've recorded it, of course."

"Recorded it?" inquired Mr. Belcher in an alarm which he did not attempt
to disguise.

"You don't mean to tell me that this paper has been in existence more
than six years, and has not been recorded?"

"I didn't know it was necessary."

Mr. Cavendish tossed the paper back to the owner of it with a sniff of
contempt.

"It isn't worth that!" said he, snapping his fingers.

Then he drew out the check from his drawer, and handed it back to Mr.
Belcher.

"There's no case, and I don't want your money," said he.

"But there is a case!" said Mr. Belcher, fiercely, scared out of his
fear. "Do you suppose I am going to be cheated out of my rights without
a fight? I'm no chicken, and I'll spend half a million before I'll give
up my rights."

Mr. Cavendish laughed.

"Well, go to Washington," said he, "and if you don't find that Balfour
or somebody else has been there before you, I shall be mistaken. Balfour
isn't very much of a chicken, and he knows enough to know that the first
assignment recorded there holds. Why has he not been down upon you
before this? Simply because he saw that you were making money for his
client, and he preferred to take it all out of you in a single slice. I
know Balfour, and he carries a long head. Chicken!"

Mr. Belcher was in distress. The whole game was as obvious and real to
him as if he had assured himself of its truth. He staggered to his feet.
He felt the hand of ruin upon him. He believed that while he had been
perfecting his crime he had been quietly overreached. He lost his
self-command, and gave himself up to profanity and bluster, at which Mr.
Cavendish laughed.

"There's no use in that sort of thing, General," said he. "Go to
Washington. Ascertain for yourself about it, and if you find it as I
predict, make the best of it. You can make a compromise of some sort. Do
the best you can."

There was one thing that Mr. Cavendish had noticed. Mr. Belcher had made
no response to him when he told him that if the paper was a dirty one he
did not wish to know it. He had made up his mind that there was mischief
in it, somewhere. Either the consideration had never been paid, or the
signatures were fraudulent, or perhaps the paper had been executed when
the assignor was demonstrably of unsound mind. Somewhere, he was
perfectly sure, there was