rking out his words. "How
did you come to get into this, then? His pal? Double-crossing him, eh? I
suppose you want a reward--we'll attend to that, of course. You're
wiser than you know, my man. That's what we suspected. We've had the
detectives trailing Moyne all evening." He reached forward over the desk
for the telephone. "I'll telephone headquarters to make the arrest at
once."

"Just a minute," interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. "I want you to listen
to a little story first."

"A story! What has a story got to do with this?" snapped Carling.

"The man has got a home," said Jimmie Dale softly. "A home, and a
wife--and a little baby girl."

"Oh, that's the game then, eh? You want to plead for him?" Carling flung
out gruffly. "Well, he should have thought of all that before! It's
quite useless for you to bring it up. The man has had his chance
already--a better chance than any one with his record ever had before.
We took him into the bank knowing that he was an ex-convict, but
believing that we could make an honest man of him--and this is the
result."

"And yet--"

"NO!" said Carling icily.

"You refuse--absolutely?" Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering, wistful
note in it.

"I refuse!" said Carling bluntly. "I won't have anything to do with it."

There was just an instant's silence; and then, with a strange, slow,
creeping motion, as a panther creeps when about to spring, Jimmie Dale
projected his body across the desk--far across it toward the other. And
the muscles of his jaw were quivering, his words rasping, choked with
the sweep of fury that, held back so long, broke now in a passionate
surge.

"And shall I tell you why you won't? Your bank was robbed to-night of
one hundred thousand dollars. There are ten thousand here. THE OTHER
NINETY THOUSAND ARE IN YOUR SAFE!"

"You lie!" Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair. "You lie!"
he cried. "Do you hear! You lie! I tell you, you lie!"

Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.

"Sit down!" he gritted between his teeth.

The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were
working--mechanically he sank down again in his chair.

Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right
elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.

"You cur!" whispered Jimmie Dale. "There's just one reason, only one,
that keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit there.
We'll get to that in a moment. There is that