t the specific charge on which action was taken was the
theft of the thirty-three hundred.

"This man's name was Splain.

"There was a delay of a few hours in arranging for his bail so that he
wouldn't have to spend the night in prison. While in his cell, he
remarked:

"'This kind of a place doesn't suit me. It's as cold as charity. I'll be
out of here in an hour or so, and, if they ever get me into a cell again,
they'll have to kill me first. Once is enough.'

"He made good his boast. They didn't get him into one again. He jumped
his bail ten days before the date set for his trial. Since then the
police have, so far as they know, never laid eyes on him. They had a
photograph of him, of course, an adequate description: high aquiline
nose; firm, compressed mouth; black and unusually piercing eyes; black
hair; all his features sharp-cut; broad shoulders, and slender, athletic
figure. Those are some of the details I recall. In----"

Fulton cried out. It was like the shrill, indefinite protest of a child
against pain. He put the fingers of his right hand to his forehead,
shielding his face. The description of the fugitive had brought instantly
to his mind the face of George Withers.

"Indulge me for just a few moments more, Mr. Fulton," Braceway said.
"Splain eluded the pursuit. His flight and disappearance were perfectly
planned and carried out, and----"

Bristow again interrupted the recital. On his face was a smile which did
not reach to his eyes. For the past few minutes he had been thinking
faster than he had ever thought in his life, and had made a decision.

"What you've told us," he said calmly, his gaze taking knowledge of no
one but the detective, "is, in effect, a rather flattering sketch of a
part of my own life."

Greenleaf, with jaw dropped and thinking powers paralyzed, stared at him.
Fulton leaned forward as if to spring.

Only Abrahamson, his smile broadening, his cavernous eyes alight, was
free from surprise. He had now the air of greatly enjoying the
performance he had been invited to see.

Braceway, his shoulders flung back, his figure straight as a poplar,
watching Bristow with intense caution, grew suddenly into heroic mould.
The red glow from the setting sun streamed through the window to his
face, emphasizing the ardour in his eyes. He took a step forward, became
dominant, menacing.

His white-clad arm shot out so that he pointed with accusing finger to
the imperturbable Bristow.

"T