ery word of it!"

"Well,--since you have raised the white flag, here are my terms:--

"I don't want a cent of your money. Sell out and turn every nickel you
have over to somebody or some institution that needs it. Come with me
before a magistrate and make an honest confession, and take your
chance of a new start, like a man would do. I'll shake hands then and
call it quits, but not until."

The Mayor glared at Phil as if he considered the latter had suddenly
become bereft of his reason.

"Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed in disgust, turning on his heel, "no use
bargaining with a lunatic."

"Wait a bit!" cried Phil. "If I accept all you offer, what do you want
in return?"

"Nothing!--nothing but that little piece of paper I was fool enough to
leave lying about a few years ago."

"In other words,--your price is the proof of my innocence and your own
guilt."

"The question of innocence and guilt has been settled between you and
me long ago. You paid the price;--why not take your share of the
proceeds?"

Phil shook his head.

"No!" blurted Brenchfield angrily, "but you prefer to use the cipher
note for blackmail and to satisfy your own dirty designs for revenge
when your own time comes."

Phil pointed to the door.

"Get out!--and don't bring up this subject to me again. I am sick of
it--and you."

Suddenly the Mayor laughed in relief, and he snapped his thumb and
forefinger under Phil's nose.

"Go to it! Do your worst!" he exclaimed. "I've found out all I wanted
to find. You are an arrant bluffer, Phil Ralston, but you're not quite
smart enough. You haven't got that note. Damn you!--you never had it
for longer time than it took you that morning to burn it.

"It was ashes before the police came.

"Now, Philip Ralston,--it was you who committed the crime you got
rightly jailed for. You didn't get half what was coming to you, dirty
thief and blackmailer that you are. You should have had ten
years----"

Brenchfield got no further. Phil was on him quick as an avalanche. The
Mayor, in his haste to get out of the way, toppled backward against
the anvil. Phil's left arm shot out and finished the job. He caught
Brenchfield straight on the point of the chin, sending him hurtling
head first over the anvil and on to the floor on the other side.

Phil vaulted over on top of him, but when he saw the huddled form,
limp and insensible, and the face livid and drawn, his better judgment
flashed through and mastered his terr