At last the torrent of curses broke forth. “Damn you, Leach Sharkey! That’s what I pay you for, is it? To let that scoundrel slip through our very fingers? And you had the nerve to ask me for another big check this evening. It’s all a confounded plot. You’re bleeding me. Leach is your name, and leech is your nature.” Leach Sharkey rose to his feet. His white teeth gleamed as his short upper lip curled in a contemptuous smile. He raised a threatening finger. It was his turn now to give free vent to profanity. “Stop right there, you doggoned old fool. I bleed you, do I? Well, take my resignation. All your pay ain’t worth another five minutes of your infernal temper. No man ever dared to browbeat me and insult me as you have done. And now you may go to hell—where you belong.” The sleuth turned on his heel, and strode to the doorway. But Thurston was after him in an instant, penitent, trembling, ashen pale. He grabbed Sharkey by the coat sleeve. “No, no, don’t go, I beg of you,” he whined, “I was wrong. I spoke in anger. I apologize. Good God, some one or other will get me within an hour if you leave me unprotected. I haven’t a single friend—no one to stand by me.” There was craven fear in his eyes as he looked timidly around. “I hear the prowling footsteps of my enemies in the night. You alone can save me, Mr. Sharkey.” “Your damned civility comes too late,” replied the sleuth, as he shook the clutching hands from his shoulder. “No, no. Don’t say that. Sit down again. See, here is my check book. I’ll pay you that money now—I’ll double the amount—I’ll never haggle with you again. Stay with me till we go East together.” Sharkey showed himself somewhat mollified. He had played his game well, for after all, cash with him was the main consideration. So smiling over the success of his bluff, he watched the unnerved coward as he tottered to his desk, dropped into a chair and drew the check with slow and painful effort, and then returned with it between his still trembling fingers. “You’ll stand by me, Mr. Sharkey, won’t you?” “Well, no more of that nonsense,” was the curt reply, as the sleuth glanced at the slip of paper, then thrust it in his waistcoat pocket. To Thurston the reconciliation brought instant relief. He drew himself up; he rubbed his hands; he even attempted a smile. “That’s a good fellow, Sharkey. You know I’ve always held you in high esteem. And we’ll get that man yet”—the glare of vindictiveness was again in his eyes, the rasp of accustomed irritability was returning to his voice. “We’ll get him, I say, even if it costs double the money I’ve already spent. And that devil of a girl, too—I hate her more than ever now. She’ll pay for her insults tonight with her lover’s life. Remember, Sharkey, no more chances. When you get the scoundrel within gunshot, it’s up to you to shoot. That will be best in any case. It will save the cost of a judge and jury. You understand me?”