old trick of railroading a man guilty of a less offense!"

"This is no place for an argument of the case," Braceway said crisply.
"Mr. Abrahamson, tell us what you know about this man."

"It is not much, Mr. Braceway," the Jew replied; "not as much as I would
like. I've seen him several times; once in my place when he was fixed up
with moustache and so forth, and twice when he was fixed up with a beard
and a gold tooth; once again when he was sitting out here on his porch."

Abrahamson talked rapidly, punctuating his phrases with quick gestures,
enjoying the importance of his role.

"Mr. Braceway," he explained smilingly to Greenleaf, "talked to me about
the man with the beard--talked more than you did, chief. You know Mr.
Braceway--how quick he is. He talked and asked me to try to remember
where and when I had seen this Mr. Bristow. I had my ideas and my
association of ideas. I remembered--remembered hard. That afternoon I
took a holiday--I don't take many of those--and I walked past here.
'I bet you,' I said to myself--not out real loud, you understand--'I bet
you I know that man.' And I won my bet. I did know him.

"This Mr. Splain and the man with the beard are the same, exactly the
same."

Bristow's smile was tolerant, as if he dealt with a child. But Fulton,
his angry eyes boring into the accused man, saw that, for the first time,
there were tired lines tugging the corners of his mouth. It was an
expression that heralded defeat, the first faint shadow of despair.

"You have my story, and I've the facts to prove it a hundred times over,"
Braceway announced. "Why waste more time?"

"For the simple reason," Bristow fought on, "that I'm entitled to a fair
deal, an honest----"

On the word "honest" Braceway turned with his electric quickness to
Greenleaf, and, as he did so, Bristow leaned back in his chair, as if
determined not to argue further. His face assumed its hard, bleak calm;
his cold self-control returned.

"Now, get this!" Braceway's incisive tone whipped Greenleaf to closer
attention. "You've an embezzler and murderer in your hands. He admits one
crime; I've proved the other. The rest is up to you. Put the irons on
him. Throw him into a cell! You'll be proud of it the rest of your life.
Here's the warrant."

He drew the paper from his hip pocket and tossed it to the chief.

"Get busy," he insisted. "This man's the worst type of criminal I've ever
encountered. Not content with blackmailing and ro