"Now, the whole thing hinges on whether or not our man will come across with the money after he finds his child has disappeared," Bailey said when he had finished. "If he refuses--if he sets the police after us--all we have to do is put the kid where it will never be found, dead or alive. That'll be up to you, Grimes. What we want you to do is hold the youngster until the father agrees to pay; then we'll come and fetch her and give her to him in exchange for the ransom money. We'll take you with us, so you can see the deal finished and you'll get your thousand dollars then and there." Grimes had been following every word with the utmost attention. He now looked apprehensively over his shoulder as if he thought someone might be standing behind him, then leaned forward and said: "An' ef he doesn't pay--" He paused questioningly. Again Bailey's lip curled back from his teeth and his mustache drooped as he looked straight into the gleaming eyes of the supposed hog-farmer. "I think you'll know what to do--won't you?" Grimes' face twisted to one side and his fingers moved as if clutching something by the throat. "Shore," he replied. "An' I'll do hit. Arything 'at stands atween me an' one thousand dollars hain't a-goin' ter stand thar long." "I guess we understand each other," said Bailey. "Now we'll get down to business. When do you think we can do the job, Swazey?" CHAPTER XII THE MONSTER COMES "A wicked man is loathsome and cometh to shame."--Prov. xiii, 5 The ogre was approaching his castle. In other words Peter Grimes, after his conference with Messrs Bailey and Swazey, was on his way to his bog-infested farm. He was supremely happy and self-satisfied. Riches unlimited gleamed in perspective before his eyes as did a bag of oats before the eyes of his horse. His former exploits counted as nothing beside the undertaking upon which he had now embarked under the leadership of the brilliant Bailey. Peter twisted and writhed in very enjoyment of the prospect. And because he was happy he felt cruel--murderously cruel. He wanted to celebrate. Had it not been for the swamps he might have reached home by a short cut. That being impossible he drove direct from the court house square down to the river road, followed it to the point where it crossed the old turnpike, thence along the pike until he came to the narrow, tortuous road, traversed only by those who went to and from the Grimes farm. It was while covering this last stage of his journey that Peter remembered his mail. He felt of his pockets to assure himself that it was all safe. It was. A corner of the cumbersome parcel came in contact with his horny hand. "What'n hell--" he muttered, then paused in the very act of withdrawing the parcel to give his attention to the horse.