Part 33 (1/2)

”You were to do something to me with it, I believe, and to leave it in my hand to show I'd done it myself?”

And then, under another sidelong flash, that steadied down into a will-destroying gleam, Croucher came out with a dreadful phrase.

”To guide yer 'and!” said he, hoa.r.s.ely.

”To guide my hand! Exactly! But it was not exactly your idea?”

”No. It was----”

But here his eyes rolled into Mostyn Scarth's, and dropped once more.

”Exactly!” repeated Dollar. ”But you didn't quite feel like doing it, so at last your master had to come in to do it for you?”

”He ain't my master now, blast 'im!”

”Steady, Croucher. May I ask what that is in your hand?”

It was a letter. Only a letter out of that far pocket, after all!

Scarth's eyes started, and he found his tongue once more.

”You--give--that--to me, Croucher!”

Croucher wavered at his voice; it was terribly threatening, each subtle tone a poisoned barb.

”What if I don't?”

”You know what!”

”The game deepens,” said the crime doctor; and he did not know that his left hand had dropped the hand of hands for him.

”_Your_ game's up if you show that letter!” cried Scarth to Croucher, who only showed him the broad of his back.

”Can you be tried twice for the same thing, doctor?” he began--but in the same breath he desperately added: ”I don't care whether you can or you can't! You read that, whether or no!”