w in the uptake in such
circumstances as this. The woman had seemed so genuine. Why did she
maintain silence? It was a novel experience in his life. All the ways of
this strange city were foreign to him.

The man's voice broke in:

"A fine story it will make in the press."

"Eh----!"

"The morals of a millionaire."

"Eh!" growled Jim again.

"Maybe you wouldn't like this to appear in print?..."

And then Jim saw it all. It was like a story from a magazine. He had never
believed those things could be true. But here it was in real life. A
frame-up--a dirty piece of blackmail.

"Can't we come to terms, Mr. Conlan...."

The suave voice got no farther than that. He saw six-feet-odd of bone and
muscle rear up like a piece of steel and descend on him. A great hard hand
caught him by the neck and bounced him up and down the room.

"You swab! You tinhorn! I've manured a potato patch with better stuff, by
Gawd! And she's your wife, you dirty trash! She ain't your wife--no, sir.
I savvy what she is. Suffering rattlesnakes! I'm waitin' to hear about it.
When did you frame to put this over me? Talk up or I'll yank you outer the
window into the street."

"Damn you--let me go!"

"I'll 'damn you,' you muck! Take that!"

A resounding slap sounded as a hand like leather met the man's face. Edith
screamed.

"Talk up!"

"We--arranged--it--this afternoon," gasped the man.

Jim flung him to the floor and advanced on the pallid Edith. She retreated
before him. He was about to clasp her when a voice rang out.

"Hands up!"

He swung round to find his late victim brandishing a revolver. An ugly
leer crossed his face. He evidently meant business. Jim stared at the
revolver.

"Put 'em up or I'll drill you. I can plead the unwritten law. I've got you
now, my buck-jumping desperado."

Jim coolly blew his nose.

"Put 'em up!"

He put up his hands and dropped the handkerchief. He stooped to pick up
the latter and, with a lightning movement, caught the edge of the mat and
pulled with all his strength. The man, standing on the end of it, came to
earth with a crash. Jim flew at him and made for the hand that held the
gun. Over and over they went like cats. Then it was that Edith lent a
hand--to her confederate. She ran to the dressing-table and took up a
small penknife. Jim was leaning over his victim, wresting the gun from
his hand, when she reached him. The knife came down twice in his shoulder.
The intense pain caused hi