He was ten minutes late in keeping his appointment. He might have been even later without being in danger of receiving the censure he deserved. For the lady received him in a loose wrapper and gracefully disordered hair, a glance at which made Braman gasp in unfeigned admiration. "What's this?" he demanded with a pretense of fatherly severity, which he imagined became him very well in the presence of women. "Not ready yet, Mrs. Harvey?" The woman waved him to a chair with unsmiling unconcern; dropped into another, crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, her hands folded across the back of her head, her sleeves, wide and flaring, sliding down below her elbows. She caught Braman's burning stare of interest in this revelation of negligence, and smiled at him in faint derision. "I'm tired, Croft. I've changed my mind about going to the First Merchants' Ball. I'd much rather sit here and chin you--if you don't mind." "Not a bit!" hastily acquiesced the banker. "In fact, I like the idea of staying here much better. It is more private, you know." He grinned significantly, but the woman's smile of faint derision changed merely to irony, which held steadily, making Braman's cheeks glow crimson. "Well, then," she laughed, exulting in her power over him; "let's get busy. What do you want to chin about?" "I'll tell you after I've wet my whistle," said the banker, gayly. "I'm dry as a bone in the middle of the Sahara desert!" "I'll take mine 'straight,'" she laughed. Braman rang a bell. A waiter with glasses and a bottle appeared, entered, was paid, and departed, grinning without giving the banker any change from a ten dollar bill. The woman laughed immoderately at Braman's wolfish snarl. "Be a sport, Croft. Don't begrudge a poor waiter a few honestly earned dollars!" "And now, what has the loose-board telephone told you?" she asked, two hours later when flushed of face from frequent attacks on the bottle--Braman rather more flushed than she--they relaxed in their chairs after a tilt at poker in which the woman had been the victor. "You're sure you don't care for Trevison any more--that you're only taking his end of this because of what he's been to you in the past?" demanded the banker, looking suspiciously at her. "He told me he didn't love me any more. I couldn't want him after that, could I?" "I should think not." Braman's eyes glowed with satisfaction. But he hesitated, yielding when she smiled at him. "Damn it, I'd knife Corrigan for you!" he vowed, recklessly. "Save Trevison--that's all I ask. Tell me what you heard." "Corrigan suspects Trevison of blowing up the stuff at the butte--as everybody does, of course. He's determined to get evidence against him. He found Carson's pipe at the door of the dynamite shed this morning. Carson is a friend of Trevison's. Corrigan is going to have Judge Lindman issue a warrant for the arrest of Carson--on some charge--and they're going to jail Carson until he talks."