“In what way?” cried Clifford.

“Bradley, as you know, is a sort of private watchman over young Morton. Loveman has handled a lot of delicate matters for the father. The elder Morton is a ruthless egoist, an able man of big affairs, but remarkable for neither business nor personal morality. The son you are acquainted with. You can see the opportunities here for such a combination as Bradley and Loveman.”

[52]“Yes. But where does Mary Regan come in?”

[52]

“Bradley and Loveman are using her now, and expect to use her in the future.”

“Does she know she is being used?”

“I’m certain she does not even guess it.”

“Then how did they ever get her into it this far?”

“I do not know.”

“But surely,” cried Clifford, “You must have some idea of what their plan is?”

“Only that I surmise that it is one individual case of the general situation concerning which I just spoke to you—about how very clever persons have made a subtle business out of the manner in which the city’s Big Pleasure reacts upon human ambitions and human frailties. Any information more definite than this it will be part of your job to get.”

Abruptly Clifford stood up and strode to a window and stood gazing vacantly at a huge candy factory across Broome Street—his whole being now wildly athrob, his brain working swiftly though incoherently. What might it not mean, Mary Regan’s showing this concern to see that he accepted the position he had once refused because of her?... And how much did she really care for Morton?... And might there not be motives, deeper and other than he had guessed, that had caused her to treat him so cavalierly?... And the menace of Loveman and of Bradley—

Abruptly Clifford turned about on Thorne.[53] “Chief, I’m sorry to take back my word—but I cannot accept that job as Chief of Detectives.”

[53]

“Why not?” cried the astounded Thorne.

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