assed from Congress Street and walked with a
steady purpose manifest in his clicking heels. It was not a night's bat
that guided his feet, no festive orgy, but the hard, firm footfall of a
man who has been drunk a long time--terribly mean drunk. And terribly
mean drunk he was. His eyes were blazing, and he mumbled as he walked.
Down Market Street he turned and strode to the corner where the Traders'
National Bank sign shone under the electrics. He looked up, saw a light
burning in the office above, and suddenly changed his gait to a tip-toe.
Up the stairs he crept to a door, under which a light was gleaming. He
got a firm hold of the knob, then turned it quickly, thrust open the
door and stepped quietly into the room. He grinned meanly at Tom Van
Dorn who, glancing up over his shoulder from his book, saw the white
face of Fenn leering at him. Van Dorn knew that this was the time when
he must use all the wits he had.

"Why, hello--Henry--hello," said Van Dorn cheerfully. He coughed, in an
attempt to swallow the saliva that came rushing into his mouth. Fenn did
not answer, but stood and then began to walk around Van Dorn's desk,
eyeing him with glowing-red eyes as he walked. Van Dorn tipped back his
chair easily, put his feet on the desk before him, and spoke, "Sit down,
Henry--make yourself at home." He cleared his throat nervously.
"Anything gone wrong, Henry?" he asked as the man stood over him glaring
at him.

"No," replied Fenn. "No, nothing's gone wrong. I've just got some
exhibits here in a law suit. That's all."

He stood over Van Dorn, peering steadfastly at him. First he laid down a
torn letter. Van Dorn shuddered almost imperceptibly as he recognized in
the crumpled, wrenched paper his writing, but smiled suavely and said,
"Well?"

"Well," croaked Fenn passionately. "That's exhibit 'A'. I had to fight a
hell-cat for it; and this," he added as he lay down the silver-mounted
pen, "this is exhibit 'B'. I found that in the porch swing this morning
when I went out to get my drink hidden under the house." He cackled and
Van Dorn's Adam's apple bobbed like a cork upon a wave.

"And this," cried Fenn, as he pulled a revolver, "God damn you, is
exhibit 'C'. Now, don't you budge, or I'll blow you to hell--and," he
added, "I guess I'll do it anyway."

He stood with the revolver at Van Dorn's temple--stood over his victim
growling like a raging beast. His finger trembled upon the trigger, and
he laughed. "So you wer