“Do you think I’m daffy, to be here, in that case?” growled Sandy. “Yet——” “No, no; there’s time enough, Vic,” he interrupted. “He’s not coming till two o’clock.” “For what?” “To ask you to go with him to the scene of the fake hold-up.” “That of the photograph?” gasped Vic, with hands pressed to her breast and her white face drawn with increasing apprehension. “That’s what he said.” “Has he detected something queer in that picture?” “I reckon he has, Vic.” “Do you know what he suspects?” “He didn’t say,” replied Hyde. “Weston asked him, but Carter only said that he’d keep the photograph for a time.” “Do you know for what?” “I don’t.” “Were there any names mentioned?” “Only yours.” “In the way you stated?” “Yes.” “Anything more?” “One thing—and a mighty significant one!” growled Hyde, with a nod. “What was that?” “He added that he would land our gang, every man and woman of us, or throw up his job.” “He said that, did he?” “That’s what.” “The infernal meddler!” “He has struck some clue, that’s dead sure!” declared the spy. “It’s a condition that means we must get him, Vic, or he’ll get us.” “Oh, we’ll get him, all right!” Vic Clayton now cried, with a venomous sneer. “If he’s coming for that, for what you say, you let me alone to get him!” Though her flood of questions had been asked with passionate impatience, she now appeared more calm, yet not less viciously determined. With a seductive smile, she now said warmly: “You’re all right, Sandy. I’ll not forget this little service, and you shall have your reward when——” “I’ll get mine, all right, Vic, if the chief ever gets wise to the game I’m playing,” interrupted Hyde, with a mingled laugh and grimace. “He will never learn of it.” “If he does, Vic, I can see myself put through the third degree in a way that will leave mighty little of me.” “Bosh!” “I’m taking mighty long chances in doing this for you, and for——” “Are you getting no reward for doing it, Sandy?” The woman’s arm had stolen around his neck, while her breath fell warm on his cheek with the interruption. She drew him closer till her lips met his, then hurriedly released him, saying quickly: “Go, now, Sandy, and leave the rest to me.” “You can handle the matter?” he lingered to inquire anxiously. “You bet I can handle it!” “What will you do?” “You leave that to me, I say.” “You have no time to waste, Vic.” “Is time not wasted in talk of this kind?” Vic impatiently rejoined. “Go at once, I repeat, and leave the rest to me.” Hyde started for the door, only to have the woman again dart across his path and clasp him by the arm. “Stop a moment!” she cried, under her breath. “Well?” The query came with a startled gasp, as Hyde, naturally a nervous and cowardly cur, instinctively shrank from the expression now risen over Vic Clayton’s face. For there was murder in her dilated eyes, in her deathly white features, in the vicious firmness of her drawn, gray lips.