increase of repugnance toward this man so great that the necessity of dealing with him was an irritation.

“Well, Mr. Conrad,” said Jenkins, cheerfully, giving the other no time to state his mission, “I hear you are putting in some good licks for Johnny Martinez down in [Pg 44]Silverside. What do you think of his chances down there? Pretty good, aren’t they?”

[Pg 44]

“Yes, I think so,” Curtis replied curtly; and plunged into his own affair. “I have understood, Mr. Jenkins, from my friend Mr. Littleton, of Chicago, whom you met last week, that you are interested in a matter of prime importance to me, and that you have some information I want to get hold of.”

“Oh, yes; I remember meeting Littleton last week,” Jenkins broke in. “A good fellow, too. So he’s a friend of yours, is he? Yes; he and I scraped up quite a friendship and had a good time together. But say, Conrad, the amount of throat varnish that man can stand is something amazing!”

Curtis straightened himself in his chair impatiently. “He wrote me that he had some conversation with you about Sumner L. Delafield, formerly of Boston, but now, I have reason to believe, living here in New Mexico under an assumed name.”

“Yes; I believe we did have a little talk about Delafield,” Jenkins interrupted again. “But I’ll have to confess,” he went on jocularly, “that my mental condition wasn’t perfectly clear and it’s likely my remarks were a little foggy too. But I recall that we did [Pg 45]have some conversation about the Delafield affair. Littleton had some personal interest in Delafield’s failure, didn’t he?”

[Pg 45]

“No; all the work he has done on the case has been for me. I have considerable interest in it.”

“Have you, indeed? Now, this is a coincidence! For some time past I’ve been a good deal interested in that matter myself. I suppose you were roped into some of his schemes?”

For a moment Curtis took counsel with himself upon what and how much he should say, only to thrust back his repulsion against saying anything at all to this man and plunge frankly into his narrative. With the utmost brevity he told of his father’s ruin and of his own trailing of the culprit through so many years. Of his motives he said nothing, and of his work in tracking Delafield no more than was necessary. Few, even of his best friends, knew anything about the secret 

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