The other man lumbered to his feet and bowed awkwardly, saying: "Excuse me, gents." At the foot of the stairs that opened near the street, Leech held the other in conversation for an instant--just long enough to permit three men without to see his man. None of the three knew who he was, but all knew that they should know him at any future time. The next instant the two had passed upstairs, where the man had a room. "Well, Wilkinson," said Leech, once they were behind closed doors, and passing over a fifty-cent cigar, "you turned it pretty neat, but you didn't fool me." "I see I didn't," returned Wilkinson, limply. "You were going to stay here until you could make a get away, I suppose," went on Leech. "You did it cleverly, but," he shook his head, "there was a man cleverer than you in little old New York--that's me." "You're an intruder," retorted Wilkinson, leaning over toward the other. "I was just getting used to the life here--liked it, in fact." "It's the butcher blood coming out in you," conceded Leech. "Reversion to a type. I suppose this is really where a man like you belongs." "Who else knows about me?" asked Wilkinson, coolly enough. Leech screwed up an eye. "Did you think I was fool enough to give you away?" He paused a moment to watch the effect of his words upon the other, then he went on: "Nobody followed you up--nobody knows but myself. Listen, Wilkinson, and I'll tell you how you did it." And Leech proceeded to detail Wilkinson's escape and the method of it in such correct and graphic terms that Wilkinson's eyes bulged wide with terror. "How did you know?" gasped Wilkinson. Leech crooked his forefinger. "Because," he declared, "there's nothing new under the sun. The thing you did was done by a bank cashier in California ten years ago, and one of the few people who knew about it was myself. It's not down in the books. You thought it was new; I knew...." They smoked in silence for a while, Wilkinson all the time staring at the other. Finally he spoke. "Well, the jig is up, so far as you and I are concerned, and the question now is, what do you want of me?" Leech hesitated a moment, before answering: "I want a cool million to let you go." Wilkinson grunted. "When you told me you were the only man who knew, I figured out that was your game. But what about these chaps downstairs?" "They're not county men," assured Leech, "and they don't know a thing about it." "A million dollars," mused Wilkinson. "Where would I get it?" Leech blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. "I refuse to discuss that part of it," he answered, "only it's a million now. Later on it may be two, you know." The banker knitted his brows. "And what do you do for that million?" he said. "Keep my hands off and my mouth shut, that's all." "How long a time will you give me to think it over?" "How long do you want?" "Three days." Leech shook his head.