"Chances are he'll go with the capturing party," ran the trend of his thoughts, "and so he'll be out of reach of this little abduction. But I don't care much. If he follows them out to Jake's by any chance, Sansome will shoot him--or he'll shoot Sansome. Doesn't matter which. Shootin's none too healthy these days _for either side!_ Oh, Lord, most amusin'!" He thought a while, then turned up the hill toward his own house. A new refinement of the plot had occurred to the artist's soul too much drink had released in him. Mrs. Morrell was vastly surprised to see him. She was clad in a formless pink silk wrapper, was reclining on a sofa, and was settling down to relaxation of mind and body by means of French novels and cigarettes. "Well, what are you doing here at this time of day?" was her greeting. "Came to bask in the light of your smiles, my dear," he replied with elephantine irony. "Nonsense!" she rejoined sharply, "You've been drinking again!" "To be sure; but not enough to hurt." His manner suddenly became businesslike, "Look here," he asked her, "are you game to make a tidy bit of money?" "Always!" she replied promptly, also becoming businesslike. He explained in detail. She listened in silence at first with a slight smile of contempt on her lips. As he progressed, however, the smile faded. "Where do I come in?" she asked finally. "You must be there when the message comes to her. She might not go out to Jake's alone--probably wouldn't. I don't know her well enough to judge. Hurry her into it." "I see." She laughed suddenly. "Lord, she'll be surprised when I call on her! Take some doing, that!" She thought a few moments. "My appearance will connect us with it. Won't do." "If the thing goes through we won't be here," he pointed out. "If it doesn't go through all right, we'll arrange a little comedy. Have you bound and gagged--before her eyes--or something like that." "Thanks," she replied to this. Morrell was not entirely open. He did not tell her that money or no money, plot or no plot, he had resolved to flee the city, at least for a time. Investigations were getting too close to some of his past activities. He did not offer in words what he nevertheless knew to be the most potent of his arguments--namely, the implacable hate Mrs. Morrell bore Keith. Morrell's knowledge of this hate was accurate, though his analysis of its cause was faulty. He thought his wife to be Keith's discarded mistress, and did not greatly care. Nor did he mention the possibility which, however, Mrs. Morrell now voiced. "Suppose Keith follows them out to Jake's?" she suggested. "One of them will kill, and the Stranglers will hang the other," he said briefly. She looked up. "I don't care for that!" "In that event, you will not be present. Your job will be to duck out." He paused, then went on slowly: "Would you grieve at the demise of either--or all three?" Her face hardened.