Mr. Joseph Pelman, pricking up his ears at the smooth conciliation of eye and voice, warily circled the room, holding Mitchell's eyes as he went, selected a corner chair for obvious strategic reasons, pushed it against the wall, tapped that wall apprehensively with a backward-reaching hand, seated himself stiffly upon the extreme edge of the chair, and faced his principal, bolt upright and bristling with deliberate insolence. "If it is murder I want a third," he remarked. The lawyer gloomed upon this frowardness. "That is a poor way to greet an opportunity to make your fortune once and for all," he said. "I have something on hand now, which, if we can swing it--" "One-third," said the clerk inflexibly. Mitchell controlled himself with a visible effort. He swallowed hard and began again: "If we can carry out my plan successfully--and it seems to be safe, and certain, and almost free from risk--there will be no necessity hereafter for any of us to engage in any crooked dealings whatever. Indeed, to take up cleanly ways would be the part of wisdom. Or, young as you are, you will be able to retire, if you prefer, sure of every gratification that money can buy." "Necessity doesn't make me a crook. I'm crooked by nature. I like crookedness," said Pelman. "That's why I'm with you." "Now, Joey, don't talk--" "Don't you 'Joey' me!" exploded the demon clerk. "It was 'fool' this afternoon. I'm Pelman when there's any nerve needed for your schemes; but when you smile at me and call me Joey, what I say is--one-third!" "You devil! I ought to wring your neck!" "Try it! I'll stab your black heart with a corkscrew! I've studied it all out, and I've carried a corkscrew on purpose ever since I've known you. Thirty-three and one-third per cent. Three-ninths. Proceed!" Mitchell paced the floor for a few furious seconds before he began again. "You remember Mayer Zurich, whom we helped through that fake bankruptcy at Syracuse?" "Three-ninths?" "Yes, damn you!" Joey settled back in his chair, crossed his knees comfortably, screwed his face to round-eyed innocence, and gave a dainty caress to the thin silky line of black on his upper lip. "You may go on, Oscar," he drawled patronizingly. After another angry turn, Mitchell resumed with forced composure: "Zurich is now a fixture in Cobre, Arizona, where my Cousin Stanley lives. I had a letter from him a week ago and he tells me--this is in strict confidence, mind you--that poor Stanley is in jail." Joey interrupted him by a gentle waving of a deprecatory hand. "Save your breath, Oscar dear, and pass on to the main proposition. Now that we are partners, in manner of speaking, since your generous concession of a few minutes past--about the thirds--I must be very considerate of you." As if to mark the new dignity, the junior partner dropped the crude and boisterous phrases that had hitherto marked his converse. Mitchell recognized the subtle significance of this change by an angry gesture.