“What do you want?” “Say one thousand. That's twenty per cent.” “Too much.” “Not for the work to be done. Remember, I agree to get you off without any more trouble than just giving in your evidence.” “But I don't need to get off. I ain't done nothin'.” “No, I understand. Of course not.” “Say five hundred, and it's a go.” “No, sir. I can't do it for that. I might take seven hundred and fifty, but--” “It's too much, a--------sight too much. You'd ought to do it for less.” “Couldn't think of it.” “Well--” “Is it a go?” “I suppose so.” “All right. That's understood. If I can get the five thousand for you, you will hand me seven hundred and fifty. Now, I suppose the sooner we get at this, the better for both of us. When can I see you and talk it over?” “You might come around this afternoon.” “Say two o'clock?” “That's all right.” “Where do you live?” “I'm stoppin' over on North Clark. Forty-two-seventy-two an' a half, third floor. You 'll be around, then, will you, Mr.--Mr.--” “Bedloe's my name. Yes, I 'll be there at two sharp.” But at two o'clock, when Beveridge called at the boarding-house on North Clark Street he found that Roche was gone. “He only stopped here a day,” said the landlady. “This noon he paid me and said he was called out of town by a telegram.” “Did he say when he would be back?” “He didn't know.” “Did he leave his things?” “No. What little he had he took along.” Beveridge turned thoughtfully away and walked around the corner, where Wilson was awaiting him. He had no means of knowing that Roche was already well on the way to Spencer, where Smiley saw him a few days later. “Not there, Bill?” asked Wilson. “No,--skipped.” “Lost his nerve, eh?” “I guess so.” “Well, what now?” “Nothing, until I see Madge to-night.” “Do you really expect anything there?” “I don't know. It's a chance, that's all.” “Do you think she 'll keep her promise?” “Couldn't say. I 'll give her a chance, anyhow.” She did keep it. Very shortly after five, while Beveridge was riding slowly up and down near the meeting-place, he saw her coming, and his eyes lighted up with surprise. He could not know how much thought had been given to the effect which pleased him so; he only observed that she looked like a young girl in her short wheeling skirt and leggings, and with her natty little cap and well-arranged hair. They found St. Paul's Park gay with lights and music when they arrived. Dancing had been going on all the afternoon on the open-air platform. The ring-the-cane booth, the every-time-you-knock-the-baby-down-you-get-a-five-cent-cigar booth, were surrounded by uproarious country folk, with only here and there a city face among them. A little way down the slope, through the grove, ran the sluggish North Branch, a really inviting spot in the twilight; and to this spot it was that Beveridge led the way after checking the wheels.