"Well," he remarked; "all I can say is, the company recovered the safe in the nick of time, from whom I don't pretend to say. We've got it, and that's enough." There was a grin of cunning defiance on his face. He had entered a covert where further pursuit was impossible. For once Bennie felt unequal to the emergency. He turned silently, but appealingly, to Zephyr. It was a new experience for Zephyr as well. For the first time in his life he felt himself jarred to the point of quick retort, wholly unconsonant with his habitual serenity. His face flushed. His hand moved jerkily to the bosom of his shirt, only to be as jerkily removed empty. The harmonica was decidedly unequal to the task. His lips puckered and straightened. His final resort was more satisfying. He deliberately seated himself on the safe and began rolling a cigarette. Placing it to his lips, he drew a match along the leg of his trousers. The shielded flame was applied to the cigarette. There came a few deliberate puffs, the cigarette was removed. His crossed leg was thrust through his clasped hands at he leaned backward. Through a cloud of soothing smoke his answer was meditatively voiced. "When the Almighty made man, he must have had a pot of sense on one hand and foolishness on the other, and he put some of each inside every empty skull. He got mighty interested in his work and so absent-minded he used up the sense first. Leastways, some skulls got an unrighteous dose of fool that I can't explain no other way. I ain't blaming the Almighty; he'd got the stuff on his hands and he'd got to get rid of it somehow. It's like rat poison--mighty good in its place, but dangerous to have lying around loose. He just forgot to mix it in, that's all, and we've got to do it for him. It's a heap of trouble and it's a nasty job, and I ain't blaming him for jumping it." CHAPTER XXI _The Sword that Turns_ As Zephyr and Bennie left the office Hartwell turned to Firmstone. There was no outward yielding, within only the determination not to recognise defeat. "The cards are yours; but we'll finish the game." The words were not spoken, but they were in evidence. Firmstone was silent for a long time. He was thinking neither of Hartwell nor of himself. "Well," he finally asked; "this little incident is happily closed. What next?" Hartwell's manner had not changed. "You are superintendent here. Don't ask me. It's up to you." Firmstone restrained himself with an effort. "Is it?" The question carried its own answer with it. It was plainly negative, only Hartwell refused to accept it. "What else are you out here for?" Firmstone's face flushed hotly. "Why can't you talk sense?" he burst out. "I am not aware that I have talked anything else." Hartwell only grew more rigid with Firmstone's visible anger. "If that's your opinion the sooner I get out the better." Firmstone rose and started to the door.