mighty!"

The woman sank into the chair beside which she had been standing. She
seemed impervious to his mockery.

"What do you want me for?" she asked, and the quick directness of her
question implied not so much that time was being wasted on side issues
as that he was cruelly and unnecessarily demeaning himself in her eyes.

It was then that Blake swung about, as though he, too, were anxious to
sweep aside the trivialities that stood between him and his end, as
though he, too, were conscious of the ignominy of his own position.

"You know where I 've been and what I 've been doing!" he suddenly
cried out.

"I 'm not positive that I do," was the woman's guarded answer.

"That's a lie!" thundered Blake. "You know as well as I do!"

"What have you been doing?" asked the woman, almost indulgently.

"I 've been trailing Binhart, and you know it! And what's more, you
know where Binhart is, now, at this moment!"

"What was it you wanted me for?" reiterated the white-faced woman,
without looking at him.

Her evasions did more than anger Blake; they maddened him. For years
now he had been compelled to face her obliquities, to puzzle over the
enigma of her ultimate character, and he was tired of it all. He made
no effort to hold his feelings in check. Even into his voice crept
that grossness which before had seemed something of the body alone.

"I want to know where Binhart is!" he cried, leaning forward so that
his head projected pugnaciously from his shoulders like the head of a
fighting-cock.

"Then you have only wasted time in sending for me," was the woman's
obdurate answer. Yet beneath her obduracy was some vague note of
commiseration which he could not understand.

"I want that man, and I 'm going to get him," was Blake's impassioned
declaration. "And before you get out of this room you 're going to
tell me where he is!"

She met his eyes, studiously, deliberately, as though it took a great
effort to do so. Their glances seemed to close in and lock together.

"Jim!" said the woman, and it startled him to see that there were
actual tears in her eyes. But he was determined to remain superior to
any of her subterfuges. His old habit returned to him, the old habit
of "pounding" a prisoner. He knew that one way to get at the meat of a
nut was to smash the nut. And in all his universe there seemed only
one issue and one end, and that was to find his trail and get his man.
So he cut her short wit