life. Were his skin bronze, were he decked
in the barbaric trappings of a Pawnee chief, his appearance would be
more in accord with the chill and repellant significance of his
personality. His square, hard features might have been chiseled out of
granite. A pair of singularly dark eyes blazed beneath heavy and
prominent eyebrows. A high forehead, a massive chin, and a well-shaped
nose lent a certain intellectuality to the face, but this attribute was
negatived by the coarse lines of a brutal mouth.

From any point of view the visitor must invite attention, while
compelling dislike--even fear. In a smaller frame, such qualities might
escape recognition, but this man's giant physique accentuated the evil
aspect of eyes and mouth. Hardly waiting till the door was closed, he
laughed sarcastically.

"You are well fixed here, brother o' mine," he said.

The man whom he addressed as "brother" leaned with his hands on the
table that separated them. His face was quite ghastly. All his
self-control seemed to have deserted him.

"You?" he gasped. "To come here! Are you mad?"

"Need you ask? It will not be the first time you have called me a
lunatic, nor will it be the last, I reckon."

"But the risk, the infernal risk! The police know of you. Rachel is
arrested. A detective was here a few hours ago. They are probably
watching outside."

"Bosh!" was the uncompromising answer. "I'm sick of being hunted. Just
for a change I turn hunter. Where's the mazuma you promised Rachel?"

Meiklejohn, using a hand like one in a palsy, produced a pocketbook and
took from it a bundle of notes.

"Here!" he quavered. "Now, for Heaven's sake----"

"Just the same old William," cried the stranger, seating himself
unceremoniously. "Always ready to do a steal, but terrified lest the law
should grab him. No, I'm not going. It will be good nerve tonic for you
to sit down and talk while you strain your ears to hear the tramp of
half a dozen cops in the hall. What a poor fish you are!" he continued,
voice and manner revealing a candid contempt, as Meiklejohn did indeed
start at the slamming of a door somewhere in the building. "Do you think
I'd risk my neck if I were likely to be pinched? Gad! I know my way
around too well for that."

"But you don't understand," whispered the other in mortal terror. "By
some means the detective bureau may know of your existence. Rachel
promised to be close-lipped, but--"

"Oh, take a bracer out of that decant