“You always were clever, Claire,” Crang grinned admiringly. “You've got some brains--all there are around here, as far as I can make out. You've got it straight, all right. Mr. John Bruce, Esquire, came out of Lavergne's on being informed that Hawkins was in bad shape--no lie about that!--and walked into the car without a murmur. Too bad to bother the police, though--the car will have been left in front of Hawkins' door again by now.” It was hard to keep her courage; hard to keep her lips from trembling; hard to keep the tears back; hard to pretend that she was not afraid. “What are you going to do with him?” Her voice was very low. “The promise that I gave you was on the condition that he _lived_--not only then, but now.” Crang laughed outright. “Oh, don't worry about that! He'd never let it get that far. He thinks too much of Mr. Bruce! He has already taken care of himself--at another man's expense.” Claire stared numbly. She did not understand. “I'll tell you,” said Crang, with brutal viciousness. “He's a professional gambler, this supposedly wealthy gentleman of leisure. He works for a man in San Francisco named Larmon, who really is wealthy, but who poses as a pillar of the church, or words to that effect. Never mind how, but Larmon will be here to-night in New York--just at the right moment. And Mr. Bruce has very kindly consented to assist in convincing Mr. Larmon that exposure isn't worth the few dollars that would buy him immunity.” Claire did not speak. Still she did not understand. She sat down wearily in the chair beside the table. Crang took a letter from his pocket abruptly, and, opening it, laid it in front of Claire. “I thought perhaps you would like to read it,” he said carelessly. Claire rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. She stared at the letter. At first the words ran together, and she could not make them out. Then a sentence took form, and then another--and she read them piteously. “... I asked a girl to marry me, and in doing so felt she had the right to my full confidence. She did me in... She read on to the end. “But it's not true!” she cried out sharply. “I don't believe it!” “Of course, it isn't true!” said Crang complacently. “And, of course, you don't believe it! But Larmon will. I've only shown you the letter to let you see what kind of a yellow cur this would-be lover of yours is. Anything to save himself! But so long as he wrote the letter, I had no quarrel with him if he wanted to fake excuses for himself that gave him a chance of holding his job with Larmon afterwards.”