Follansbee had not said in so many words that he would help him to get rid of his partner. He had promised to help “in his own way.” To be sure, this calculation, based on Crawford’s death, seemed to commit him, but Stone found himself wondering if he were only being played with. Had the doctor merely mentioned that in order to draw him on and get his own price? Of what was the promise of help to consist? He voiced his doubts, but his words were met in the same sphinxlike way. “I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you as to that,” Follansbee told him. “It isn’t proper for a physician to make definite promises, and it’s very unprofessional to outline methods. I have agreed to take your case for forty-five thousand dollars, and I promise to give it my best attention and the benefit of my long knowledge. That is all anybody but a quack can say. You’ll have to take it or leave it. If you’re so thoroughly persuaded that I’m a scoundrel, you oughtn’t to hesitate.” His smile was a maddening enigma. Under the influence of this skillful handling, the tanned face widened into a smile, and Stone nodded his head. “All right,” he said. “I forgot about the money. Crawford has made his will in my favor, and if he dies without involving me I’ll get his share, of course.” “That’s my understanding of the situation,” Follansbee agreed. “That’s right—that’s right! How you got on to it, though, Heaven only knows!” “Then you’re willing to pay me the fee I demand?” “I suppose it’s worth it. Yes, I’ll pay it.” “A wise decision,” murmured Follansbee. He reached out a lean hand and swung a pad of blotting paper round, then placed a pen and inkwell beside it. “Now I want you to sit down here and write me out a check for forty-five thousand dollars. To-day is the seventeenth, and I want you to date your check the twenty-seventh. That gives me ten days, and if at the end of that time Winthrop Crawford is still troubling you, all you have to do is to go to your bank and stop payment on your check. Is that fair?” CHAPTER X. THE RAISED CHECK. “I couldn’t ask anything more than that,” Stone admitted. He felt sure now that Follansbee would do all he wished, despite the fact that he had been able to pin him down. He assumed that that was merely the doctor’s caution and cleverness, and the offer to allow him to date the check ahead came with an unexpected sense of relief. To be sure, Follansbee had put it with his customary vagueness. He had not said, “if at the end of that time, Crawford is still alive,” but only “if he’s still troubling you.” That might mean any one of a number of things, but, as was his way, Stone interpreted it as best suited him. He drew a check book from his pocket, and, pulling a chair forward, seated himself at the desk. His head was bent, and he could not see Follansbee’s face. Had he been able to do so, he might have been struck by the curious look that was now in the little eyes.