ward. His huge bulk and hardened
muscles gave him a ready courage. He forced a smile to his lips. After
all, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later.

"Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored. What can I do for you?" There
was a pretense of amiability.

"For the present," said Warrington, "you may sit down. We propose to
do so." He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed it
close to the door. "You sit there, John." For himself, he sat on the
corner of the table.

McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself. His thoughts were not
particularly lucid, however.

"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison," said
Warrington.

"I'll have to take your word for it," was the reply. "But how is it
that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly.

"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for being
as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous."

"Thanks." McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in
his vest for a match.

"But," Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are a
fool as well as a blackleg."

"How do you make that out?" coolly.

"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?"

"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?"

"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly.

Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If
they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two.
He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts
of his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. There
was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles.

"Bolles, if you are not at my office inside of ten minutes, I'll break
you, and you know what I mean." McQuade hung up the receiver. "He'll
be right over. Now, what's all this mystery about?"

"It regards some literary compositions of yours to which I have taken
exception."

"Compositions?"

"Yes. Two anonymous letters. But before we discuss them we'll wait for
our friend Bolles."

McQuade signified that this was agreeable to him. All the same, he
glanced uneasily at the man near the door. Bennington had not made the
slightest sound after taking his chair. His arms were folded across
his breast, which rose and fell with deep intakes. His face, in the
shadow, was no more readable than that of the miniature sphinx
paper-weight that rested on McQuade's desk. But Bolles