LITMIR.BIZ

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conspiracy against one of the richest corporations in the city—a walkover! We’ve got ’em cold!” He fished out a dossier in blue covers. “We’ve had our accountants on it now for nearly two years—ever since the reorganization. They ran into a raft of stuff none of us even suspected!”

      “Who’s ‘we’?” inquired Hugh.

      “The parties I represent.”

      “What parties?”

      “That I can’t disclose. Important people! We’re going to retain your firm to represent us in the police court, subpœna their books, and play hell with ’em generally. We’ll have the press solid behind us. But”—and he looked hard at Hugh—“you can’t go into a thing like this half-cock! It’s a big job!”

      “I should think you might persuade District Attorney Farley to lay the matter before the grand jury in the first instance—if it’s as important as all that!” commented Hugh.

      “But that’s not our game. We don’t want an indictment—at least, not yet. What we want to do is to expose their corrupt practices—show ’em up!”

      “Dillon’s your man! He’ll rip ’em up the back proper for you!” said Hoyle.

      “Well, there’s money in it, all sorts of ways, if you understand me,” remarked Kranich significantly. “They’re capitalized at fifteen millions. Their common stock is selling around ninety.”

      “And if this goes through—?” murmured Hoyle.

      “It won’t sell above nine! We all ought to make our everlasting fortunes!”

      Hugh could hardly credit his ears. Kranich was baldly proposing blackmail!

      “Who are these miscreants?” he inquired curiously.

      “A concern known as ‘The Associated Architects and Builders.’” Kranich awaited the effect of his disclosure.

      “You mean Devens’ company?”

      “Yes—one of them. The other, the J. S. Burke Company, is involved too. We’ve got ’em both.”

      Hugh studied his partner’s face. It was as expressionless as a pan of milk. The grey cat was feeling her way toward the window. Was it conceivable that Hoyle was contemplating taking a case against his own client? It was unthinkable! But, if not, what could he be up to? Was he trying to trick Kranich into disclosing his hand? Dirty business, at any rate! In no event could he participate in a criminal prosecution against Moira’s father. These people were his friends!

      “I’d like to think this matter over,” he said slowly.

      “Take all the time you want. There’s no great hurry. Only this looks like a fairly propitious moment for picking the plums. Glance this over and call me up when you’re ready.” Kranich offered Hugh the blue dossier. “The whole thing’s right there.”

      “You better hang on to it for the present. I shan’t have time to look at it—I wouldn’t leave it lying around if I were you.”

      Hoyle stretched out a short fat arm, but before his highly polished fingernails could reach the papers Hugh lifted them out of Mr. Kranich’s hand.

      “Perhaps I’ll have time to go over it, after all.”

      He thrust the blue-backed sheets into his inner pocket. Mr. Kranich closed his brief-case.

      “Well, the sooner the quicker,” he remarked, getting to his feet. “So long, Mr. Hoyle!—So long, Mr. Dillon!” He slipped through the door like a shadow. Hoyle got up and closed it behind him.

      “Let’s have a look at those papers.”

      “One moment!” Hugh held him off. “I would like to get this straight. In the first place, no matter what you do I’m out of this whole business. Mr. Devens is a friend of mine. In the second, am I right in supposing that you intend taking a case against one of your own clients?”

      Hoyle had gone back to his chair and was watching Hugh over arched fingers.

      “Who told you they were my clients?”

      “O’Hara.”

      Hoyle’s mouth drew into a small rosette.

      “Doesn’t it occur to you that if I find one of my clients is crooked I can get rid of him? If Kranich has evidence that the A. A. and B., or its officers, have been guilty of crime, there is no reason why we should continue to represent them, or, for matter of that, why we should not act against them. It might be our duty to do so!”

      “That’s a sweet thought!” ejaculated Hugh with contempt.

      It was his introduction to high-class legal rascality. Hoyle eyed him from the shadow between the windows. The cat had tiptoed along all three sides of the fence and was now on her return trip, daintily lifting her white paws. Hugh took a step nearer.

      “And it doesn’t answer my question. Are you going to take the case?”

      “That depends——”

      “On which side is the most money, I suppose,” hazarded Hugh scornfully. “That’s one way to practise law! On the one hand to take a case against a corporation whose money is in your pocket, or on the other to trap a man who wishes to retain you, into giving you confidential information to hand over to your client!—You’ve got to double-cross one or the other!”

      Hoyle’s jowls had turned the colour of raw meat.

      “Give me those papers or get out of this office!” he said.

      Hugh buttoned his coat.

      “That is what I intend to do. If I ever need a devil’s advocate I’ll know where to find him. Meantime, I shall take these papers back to Kranich.”

      The light had faded from Mulcahy’s fence. The cat had vanished. The room was still.

      “I’m a bad man to have for an enemy!” remarked Hoyle. “You’re young—and— Well—I’m willing to overlook this incident if you’ll behave yourself properly and give me those papers!”

      Hugh turned his back on him and started for the door. “This is the end of a promising young career!” he thought. The chances and changes of this mortal life were certainly astonishing! At the threshold he paused. There had come into his mind the refrain of the song they had used to shout at the Heinies across the trenches.

      “‘The bells of hell go ting-a-ling for you, and not for me!’” he remarked to his erstwhile partner. “Good-by, Hoyle and O’Hara! Give my regards to Sing Sing!”

      Moira’s chauffeur, swinging down White Street in order to attain the broader thoroughfare of Lafayette again, nearly ran over Mr. Michael Redmond, who leaped gracefully upon the running-board and smiled upon her.

      “Shall I give you a lift?” she asked.

      “You nearly lifted me into eternal glory!” replied Redmond, twisting through the door. “But I will allow you to make amends. I saw you not long ago in Part I. You seem to have the habit. Has your pet burglar landed in the Tombs?”

      “Yes,” answered Moira. “All my pet burglars and murderers and robbers have landed there. Where are you going to land?”

      “I had thought of landing in your drawing-room about tea-time.”

      “Do, by all means.”

      She seemed encouragingly cordial, and it occurred to Mr. Redmond that he had been mistaken about her not liking him yesterday afternoon. So, being a bold young man, he said:

      “You know, I would most awfully like to kiss you.”

      “In that case you would land in the street,” she remarked definitely, “even if I let you first. Do you remember Gautier’s ‘One of Cleopatra’s Nights’?”

      “I

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