old man's
lips twitching back from uneven and yellowed teeth.

"Mallett," he said, "you listen to me. Keep your investigating muzzle
out of my affairs; forget what you've ferreted out; steer clear of me
and mine. I want no scandal, but if you raise a breath of it you'll have
enough concerning yourself to occupy you. Do you understand?"

"No," said Duane mechanically, staring at the man before him.

"Well, then, to be more precise, if you lift one finger to injure me
you'll cut a figure in court.... And you can marry her later."

"Who?"

"My wife. I don't think Miss Seagrave will stand for what I'll drag you
through if you don't keep clear of me!"

Duane gazed at him curiously:

"So _that_ is what you are, Dysart," he said aloud to himself.

Dysart's temples reddened.

"Yes, and then some!... I understand that you have given yourself the
privilege of discussing my financial affairs in public. Have you?"

Duane said in a dull voice: "The Algonquin Trust was mentioned, I
believe. I did say that you are a director."

"You said I was hard hit and that the Clearing House meant to weed out a
certain element that I represented in New York."

"I did not happen to say that," said Duane wearily, "but another man
did."

"Oh. _You_ didn't say it?"

"No. I don't lie, Dysart."

"Then add to that negative virtue by keeping your mouth shut," said
Dysart between his teeth, "or you'll have other sorts of suits on your
hands. I warn you now to keep clear of me and mine."

"Just what _is_ yours?" inquired Duane patiently.

"You'll find out if you touch it."

"Oh. Is--is Miss Quest included by any hazard? Because if the right
chance falls my way, I shall certainly interfere."

"If you do, I shall begin suit for alienation within twenty-four
hours."

"Oh, no, you won't. You're horribly afraid, Dysart. This grimacing of
yours is fear. All you want is to be let alone, to burrow through the
society that breeds your sort. Like a maggot in a chestnut you feed on
what breeds you. I don't care. Feed! What bred you is as rotten as you
are. I'm done with it--done with all this," turning his head toward the
flare of light. "Go on and burrow. What nourishes you can look out for
itself.... Only"--he wheeled around and looked into the darkness where,
unseen, Sylvia Quest awaited him--"only, in this set, the young have
less chance than the waifs of the East Side."

He walked slowly up to Dysart and struck him across the face wit