. Not
me. It's forgery; that's what it is, and this parcel belongs to me,
privately----"

"See an attorney," repeated Jim patiently. "You can't keep a thing
like this out of the papers, Mr. Skidder. Why, here's a man, Angelo
Puma, who pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs a
valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.

"That's a matter for the police. You can't hope to hide it for more
than a day or two longer. Your firm is bankrupt through the rascality
of a partner. He's gone with all the money he could scrape together.
He converted everything into cash; he lied, swindled, stole, and
skipped. And what he didn't take must remain to satisfy the firm's
creditors. You can't conceal conditions, slyly pocket what Puma has
left and then call in an attorney. That's criminal. You have your
contracts to fulfil; you have a studio full of people whose salaries
are nearly due; you have running expenses; you have notes to meet; you
have obligations to face when a dozen or so contractors for your new
theatre come to you on Saturday----"

"You mean that's all up to me?" shrieked Skidder, squinting horribly
at a framed photograph of Puma. And suddenly he ran at it and hurled
it to the floor and began to kick it about with strange, provincial
maledictions:

"Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I'll skin yeh, yeh dumb-faced,
ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk!----"

The telephone's clamour silenced him. Jim answered:

"Who? Oh, long-distance. All right." And he waited. Then, again: "Who
wants him?... Yes, he's here in the office, now.... Yes, he'll come to
the 'phone."

And to Skidder: "Shadow Hill wants to speak to you."

"I won't go. By God, if this thing is out!--Who the hell is it wants
to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it's Alonzo D. Pawling!----"

"Shall I inquire?" And he asked for further information over the wire.
Then, presently, and turning again to Skidder:

"You'd better come to the wire. It seems to be the Chief of Police who
wants you."

Skidder's unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came over and took the
instrument:

"What d'ye want, Chief? Sure it's me, Elmer.... Hey? Who? Alonzo D.
Pawling? My God, is he dead? Took _pizen_! W-what for! He's a rich
man, ain't he?... Speculated?... You say he took the bank's funds?
Trust funds? What!" he screeched--"put 'em into _my_ company! He's a
liar! ... I don't care what letters he left!... Well, all right
then. Sure, I'll get a lawyer----