n full possession of
him, and the thought uppermost had grown suddenly indifferent to the
means if by their employment the end might be gained.

"Come over here and sit down," he commanded; then, seeing that Gryson
hesitated and flung a glance over his shoulder at the door: "What are
you afraid of?"

"They've got my number," said the ward-heeler, in a convict whisper
which was little more than a facial contortion. "There's a couple o'
bulls waitin' f'r me down on the sidewalk."

Blount crossed the room, shut the door and locked it. Then he went back
to the self-confessed fugitive.

"You're safe for the time being," he told the man. "Now talk fast and
talk straight. What do you want this time?"

Gryson hammered the arm of his chair with his fist and babbled
profanity. When he became coherent he told his story, or rather Blount
got it out of him piecemeal, of how he had been employed by the
"organization" to falsify the registration lists in certain districts;
of how, when the work was done, he had been denied the price and driven
out with cursings. In the accusation, which was shot through with
tremulous imprecations, the "organization" and the railroad company
were implicated as if they were one. In one breath the fugitive charged
the "double-crossing" to Kittredge, and in the next he accused the "big
boss" himself, of having passed the sentence of deportation.

"You say you were driven out? How could they drive you if you didn't
want to go?" queried the cross-examiner.

"That's on me: it was a job I pulled off two years ago in another
place--up north of this--and the night-watchman got in the way when I
was leavin'. They jerked that on me and showed me th' rope. They had me
by th' neck, with th' word passed to Chief Robertson. I'm back here now
wit' my life in my hand, but I'd chance it twice over to get square wit'
them welshers that have bawled me out!"

"Why have you come to me?" asked Blount briefly.

"Gawd knows; I took a chance again. I've heard your speeches, and says
I, 'There's your wan chance, cully,' and I'm here to grab f'r it. If
you've been meanin' the half of what you've been sayin', Mr. Blount--"
There was more of it, half pleadings and half mere rageful babblings of
a vengeful soul hampered by the tongue of inadequacy.

Blount left his chair and began to pace the floor, with Gryson watching
him furtively. At any time earlier in the struggle the thought of using
this wretched time-server as