"I understand that you and he are not on friendly terms. I've gathered that from what's been told me. Am I correct?" Durand thrust out his salient chin. "Say! Who the hell are you? What's eatin' you? Whatta you want?" "I'd rather not tell my name." "Nothin' doin'. No name, no business. That goes." "Very well. My name is Bromfield. This fellow Lindsay--gets in my way. I want to--to eliminate him." "Are you askin' me to croak him?" "Good God, no! I don't want him hurt--physically," cried Bromfield, alarmed. "Whatta you want, then?" The tight-lipped mouth and the harsh voice called for a showdown. "I want him discredited--disgraced." "Why?" "Some friends of mine are infatuated by him. I want to unmask him in a public way so as to disgust them with him." "I'm hep. It's a girl." "We'll not discuss that," said the clubman with a touch of hauteur. "As to the price, if you can arrange the thing as I want it done, I'll not haggle over terms." The ex-pugilist listened sourly to Bromfield's proposition. He watched narrowly this fashionably dressed visitor. His suspicions still stirred, but not so actively. He was inclined to believe in the sincerity of the fellow's hatred of the Westerner. Jealousy over a girl could easily account for it. Jerry did not intend to involve himself until he had made sure. "Whatta you want me to do? Come clean." "Could we get him into a gambling-house, arrange some disgraceful mixup with a woman, get the place raided by the police, and have the whole thing come out in the papers?" Jerry's slitted eyes went off into space. The thing could be arranged. The trouble in getting Lindsay was to draw him into a trap he could not break through. If Bromfield could deliver his enemy into his hands, Durand thought he would be a fool not to make the most of the chance. As for this soft-fingered swell's stipulation against physical injury, that could be ignored if the opportunity offered. "Can you bring this Lindsay to a gambling-dump? Will he come with you?" demanded the gang politician. "I think so. I'm not sure. But if I do that, can you fix the rest?" "It'll cost money." "How much will you need?" "A coupla thousand to start with. More before I've finished. I've got to salve the cops." Bromfield had prepared for this contingency. He counted out a thousand dollars in bills of large denominations. "I'll cut that figure in two. Understand. He's not to be hurt. I won't have any rough work." "Leave that to me." "And you've got to arrange it so that when the house is raided I escape without being known." "I'll do that, too. Leave your address and I'll send a man up later to wise you as to the scheme when I get one fixed up." On a sheet torn from his memorandum book Bromfield wrote the name of the club which he most frequented. "Don't forget the newspapers. I want them to get the story," said the clubman, rising. "I'll see they cover the raid."