getting tired of it; I'm tired of it now, by God! You keep
a civil tongue in your head after this--do you understand?--and we'll
get on all right. If you don't, I've the means to make you!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Not a bit of it! Too damn sane for you and Leila to hoodwink!"

"You are crazy!" repeated Plank, aghast.

"Am I? You and Leila can take the matter into court, if you want
to--unless I do. And"--here he leaned forward, showing his teeth
again--"the next time you kiss her, close the door!"

Then he went away up the marble steps and entered an elevator; and
Plank, grave and pale, went out into the street and entered his big
touring-car. But the drive up town and through the sunlit park gave him
no pleasure, and he entered his great house with a heavy, lifeless step,
head bent, as though counting every crevice in the stones under his
lagging feet. For the first time in all his life he was afraid of a man.

The man he was afraid of had gone directly to Quarrier's office, missing
the gentleman he was seeking by such a small fraction of a minute
that he realised they must have passed each other in the elevators, he
ascending while Quarrier was descending.

Mortimer turned and hurried to the elevator, hoping to come up with
Quarrier in the rotunda, or possibly in the street outside; but he was
too late, and, furious to think of the time he had wasted with Plank, he
crawled into a hansom and bade the driver take him to a number he gave,
designating one of the new limestone basement houses on the upper west
side.

All the way up town, as he jolted about in his seat, he angrily
regretted the meeting with Plank, even in spite of the cheque. What
demon had possessed him to boast--to display his hand when there
had been no necessity? Plank was still ready to give him aid at a
crisis--had always been ready. Time enough when Plank turned stingy to
use persuasion; time enough when Plank attempted to dodge him to employ
a club. And now, for no earthly reason, intoxicated with his own vanity,
catering to his own long-smouldering resentment, he had used his club on
a willing horse--deliberately threatened a man whose gratitude had been
good for many a cheque yet.

"Ass that I am!" fumed Mortimer; "now when I'm stuck I'll have to go at
him with the club, if I want any money out of him. Confound him,
he's putting me in a false position! He's trying to make it look like
extortion! I won't do it! I'm no blackmailer! I'll sta