auling away
loot?"

"It's my idea, Vaniman, that you were trying to work a hold-up game on
the bank, knowing that you were done here," stated Britt, coolly. "But
something went wrong before you had a chance to offer a compromise.
Naturally, you thought we'd do 'most anything to keep our little bank
from failing."

The young man beat his fist upon his breast. "Have you the damnation
cheek, Britt, to use me, the victim, to rehearse your lies on?"

"I'm giving you a little glimpse of the evidence. If the hint is of any
use to you, you're welcome."

"Britt, have you turned into a demon?" Vaniman demanded. He stared at
the usurer with honest incredulity.

"I've had enough setbacks, in recent days, to craze 'most any man, I'll
admit. But I'm keeping along in my usual course, doing the right thing
as I see it."

"Britt, I have never done you an injury. Are you going to ruin me
because a good girl loves me?"

"I have too much respect for that young lady to allow her name to be
dragged into a mess of this sort," stated the amazing Britt. "And I
think that she'll wake up after she has come to a realizing sense of
what a narrow escape she has had."

Vaniman stood there, his hands closing and unclosing, his palms itching
to feel the contact of Britt's cheeks. There was venom in Britt's eyes.
This outrageous baiting was satisfying the older man's rancor--the ugly
grudge that clawed and tore his soul when he sat alone in his chamber
and gazed on the girl's pictured beauty. Every night, after he puffed
out his light, he muttered the same speech--it had become the talisman
of his ponderings. "Whilst I'm staying alone here he'll be alone in a
cell in state prison."

Vaniman understood.

He turned on his heel and walked out of Britt's office.

In the street the young man met Prophet Elias, who was adventuring
abroad under his big umbrella. Vaniman was in a mood to poke ruthless
facts against his aches. "Prophet, you ought to know whether any of the
folks in this town believe that I'm innocent. Are there any?"

Elias, ever since he had flung to the cashier the sage advice about
keeping his eye peeled, had used texts rarely in his infrequent talks
with Vaniman.

"Oh yes, there are a few," he said, with matter-of-fact indifference.
"But they didn't lose money by the bank failure."

"What do you think about me?"

The Prophet cocked his eyebrow. "'Can a man take fire into his bosom,
and his clothing not be burned?' Britt,