“Dukane and Mortimer and—I—fixed it up, sir,” he confessed humbly. “We were to double-cross Nick Blankley, and Dukane was to star Mortimer.” “He must have had a pretty high opinion of him!” exclaimed Jim Barrison wonderingly, for the great manager, while a shrewd gambler, was no plunger. “He knew that he had the makings of a favorite, sir; any one could see it. Mr. Dukane wanted him the way the owner of a racing stable wants a fine horse. He knew there was money in him if he was put out right. And Dukane was the man to do that. Anyway, that was the idea. They—I mean we—were to get Blankley out of the way, and Dukane would take care of us afterward.” “How do you mean get him out of the way?” “Oh, not kill him, sir!” Wrenn’s tone was virtuously shocked. “You wouldn’t think that, surely? It was just my way of putting it, as it were. No; he’d done a number of shady things, Nick Blankley had, and——” “So had you!” interpolated Jim Barrison, rather cruelly. “Oh, yes, sir! But we had—if you’ll pardon the expression—got away with it.” There it was, the point of view of the born criminal. If you weren’t found out, it was all right! Jim looked at the wretched creature before him, and mused on man as God made him. “Well?” he demanded, somewhat impatiently. “Mortimer told Dukane something that Blankley had done; it wasn’t very much—just a fraud.” “And Dukane lent himself to this!” “He’s a business man, sir. He suggested it, I believe. At least, Mortimer said so.” No wonder the manager did not care to talk about it! “Anyway,” continued Wrenn, “it was on Mortimer’s testimony that Blankley went to jail.” “For six months.” “You know that, sir? But it was eight months. He got pardon for good behavior. We”—he stumbled over this—“we hadn’t expected it yet a while.” “Great Scott!” said Barrison, looking at him. “And you tell all this! You mean that you double-crossed—betrayed your pal, your partner—got him out of the way, so that you could be free of him while you got rich in the new venture?” “It—it comes to that, sir; I told you it didn’t sound well when you put in into words. But it’s the truth, and I don’t care any longer who knows it. I’m tired. And, anyway, I think it’s more Dukane’s fault than ours.” Barrison thought so, too, but he said nothing, only waited in silence. “I came as Mortimer’s valet because there wasn’t much of anything else that I could do, and I swore I’d stick to him, and—and he liked me, and wanted me round him. And I did stick to him! I was fond of him, and I took care of him as well as I knew how. No one could have looked out for him better—no one, sir!” “I believe that. It’s queer; but, no matter, I believe it! What were you to get out of it?” “When he made his hit, I was to have ten thousand dollars.” “And what did your daughter—the one married to Blankley, whom you had sent to jail—what did she say about this pleasant little arrangement?” Wrenn’s head drooped once more.