“Perhaps the fellow I knew was only giving me a ‘barney’ as to his name.” “I think you are giving me a ‘barney,’” remarked Blair. Hare appeared offended. “If you doubt my word,” he said, rising from his chair, “I guess we will cut our acquaintanceship right here where it began.” “Sit down.” Frank grumbled and did so. “Do I look like a fraud?” he asked. “No.” “Well, I ain’t one.” “Don’t get your Irish up for such a little thing,” said Blair. “I treat every one square,” remarked Frank, “and look for the same treatment in return.” Bull laughed. “You’re full of fight,” he said, “and I rather like that.” “Is this Quick you know on the cross?” asked Hare. “Yes, and I know no other of the name in the same line of biz; that’s the reason I took you up.” “Then the fellow I met traveled under his name.” “That’s just about the size of it. The chap was some one who makes Quick’s his headquarters.” Hare chuckled softly to himself. He had cleverly got out of what threatened to be a serious dilemma. Bull called for more drinks. After finishing his own, he excused himself for a few minutes. Blair went up to the bar, where Quick still remained. “Mike,” he said, “I want to see you alone for a few minutes.” “What is it, Bull?” “Something that will interest you.” The two men adjourned to a small room that was partitioned off one corner of the dive. There they seated themselves. “First of all,” said Bull, “I want to ask you a question.” “Drive ahead.” “Do you consider me a friend of yours?” “Why, certainly.” “I was never known to blab, was I?” “I’ve always heard you spoken of as a square man, and I so consider you myself. What are you trying to get at?” “Mike,” said Bull, and he looked the other straight in the eyes, “was Monte Murphy well the last time you saw him?” Quick gave a great start. His face became pale and he sank his nails deep in his palms. “What do you mean?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. “You know.” Mike glared fiercely across the table at his companion. This man knew of the crime he had committed at the fence? Was Monte dead? If so, this man could perhaps send him to the gallows. Why not kill Blair? That thought came to him, but he dismissed it. Had they been alone in some unfrequented spot he would have attempted the other’s life. Perhaps more than Bull knew of it? That thought was anguishing. Blair noted the changing emotions of the man as they appeared on his features. “I rather gave you a lift in that job,” said Bull. “Eh?” Quick spoke in the manner of one in a dream. “I found Murphy alive, and----” “You finished him!” exclaimed the murderer, with a glad cry. “He must be dead now.” Quick’s joy showed itself upon his face. He reached his hand across the table. “Shake!” Bull grasped the extended hand. “Mike,” said Blair, “your secret is safe with me.” “It is you who murdered him.” “I?” “Did you not finish him up?” “I never said so.” Quick looked daggers at his companion. “What did you do?”