Curtis straightened himself in his chair impatiently. "He wrote me that he had some conversation with you about Sumner L. Delafield, formerly of Boston, but now, I have reason to believe, living here in New Mexico under an assumed name." "Yes; I believe we did have a little talk about Delafield," Jenkins interrupted again. "But I'll have to confess," he went on jocularly, "that my mental condition wasn't perfectly clear and it's likely my remarks were a little foggy too. But I recall that we did have some conversation about the Delafield affair. Littleton had some personal interest in Delafield's failure, didn't he?" "No; all the work he has done on the case has been for me. I have considerable interest in it." "Have you, indeed? Now, this is a coincidence! For some time past I've been a good deal interested in that matter myself. I suppose you were roped into some of his schemes?" For a moment Curtis took counsel with himself upon what and how much he should say, only to thrust back his repulsion against saying anything at all to this man and plunge frankly into his narrative. With the utmost brevity he told of his father's ruin and of his own trailing of the culprit through so many years. Of his motives he said nothing, and of his work in tracking Delafield no more than was necessary. Few, even of his best friends, knew anything about the secret scheme of vengeance he had nursed from boyhood. Even Littleton, the detective who had aided him in the quest, did not know that he wanted to face Delafield for any reason other than to demand restitution. Having briefly outlined his story, Conrad went on to say that Littleton had led him to think that Jenkins must be engaged in the same search, and suggested that an exchange of their discoveries might be for their mutual benefit. Jenkins listened with evident interest, asking questions here and there concerning certain points in the other's long chase of the fugitive. "Yes; you've done very well, Conrad," he said, admiration in his voice, "very well indeed. That was a damned crooked trail and you've done a fine piece of work in following it through." Curtis gnawed his moustache and frowned. Jenkins's evasive speeches were increasing his irritation and repugnance almost beyond his control. "The amount of the matter is," he burst out, "I've got the notion that you know who Delafield is, and I'm willing to pay you for the information. I shall undoubtedly be able to find out for myself if I keep at it a little longer, but it happens that I want to know at once. If you know positively who he is, I am willing to pay you three hundred dollars for the knowledge." Jenkins walked to the window and stood there silently. He was weighing one thing against another, and deciding whether he should tell the whole truth, a part of it, or none at all. Presently he said to himself that a bird in the hand to-day is worth a whole flock that may be in the bush to-morrow.