He saw a wild Irishman coming for him, breathing fire. He squared himself to meet the attack! But the man at the typewriter leaped up and seized O'Neill from behind. "Steady, Bob," he shouted. "How do you know this fellow isn't right?" Unaccountably the warlike one collapsed into a chair. "Damn it, I know he's right," he groaned. "That's what makes me rave. Why didn't you let me punch him? It would have been some satisfaction. Of course he's right. I had a hunch this was a blackmailing sheet from the moment my hot fingers closed on Gonzale's money. But so long as nobody told us, we were all right." He glared angrily at Minot. "You--you killjoy," he cried. "You skeleton at the feast. You've put us in a lovely fix." "Well, I'm sorry," said Minot, "but I don't understand these heroics." "It's all up now, Harry," moaned O'Neill. "The free trial is over and we've got to send the mattress back to the factory. Here in this hollow lotus land, ever to live and lie reclined--I was putting welcome on the mat for a fate like that. Back to the road for us. That human fish over in the _Chronicle_ office was a prophet--'You look unlucky--maybe they'll give you jobs on the _Mail_.' Remember." "Cool off, Bob," Howe said. He turned to Minot and Paddock. "Of course you don't understand. You see, we're strangers here. Drifted in last night broke and hungry, looking for jobs. We got them--under rather unusual circumstances. Things looked suspicious--the proprietor parted with money without screaming for help, and no regular newspaper is run like that. But--when you're down and out, you know--" "I understand," said Minot, smiling. "And I'm sorry I called you what I did. I apologize. And I hate to be a--er--a killjoy. But as a matter of fact, your employer is a blackmailer, and it's best you should know it." "Yes," put in Paddock. "Do you gentlemen happen to have heard where the editor of Mr. Gonzale's late newspaper, published in Havana, is now?" "We do not," said O'Neill, "but maybe you'll tell us." "I will. He's in prison, doing ten years for blackmail. I understand that Mr. Gonzale prefers to involve his editors, rather than himself." O'Neill came over and held out his hand to Minot. "Shake, son," he said. "Thank God I didn't waste my strength on you. Gonzale will be in here in a minute--" "About those letters?" Howe inquired. "Yes," said Minot. "They were written to a Gaiety actress by a man who is in San Marco for his wedding next Tuesday--Lord Harrowby." "His ludship again," O'Neill remarked. "Say, I always thought the South was democratic." "Well," said Howe, "we owe you fellows something for putting us wise. We've stood for a good deal, but never for blackmailing. As a matter of fact, Gonzale hasn't brought the letters in yet, but he's due at any minute. When he comes--take the letters away from him. I shan't interfere. How about you, Bob?"