The other smiled grimly; this bargaining and trafficking with such a
man, in a place so foul! It seemed grotesque, incongruous; and yet was,
withal, so momentous. He knew just what Rogers should say; what he would
force him to do! In his overwrought state he overlooked one or two
points that would not have escaped him at another time: a certain
craftiness, or low cunning that played occasionally on that disfigured
face.

"What did you say I was to get if--"

"You shall have funds to take you out of the country, and I will engage
to get and forward to you the money left in trust. The alternative," he
bent forward, "about fifteen years, if the traps--"

The fellow pondered; at last he answered. For a few minutes then John
Steele wrote, looking up between words. His head bent now closer to the
paper, then drew back from it, as if through a slight uncertainty of
vision or because of the dim light. The fellow's eyes, watching him,
lowered.

"You know--none better!--that on that particular night some one
else--some one besides the 'Frisco Pet--entered your mother's house?"

Oaths mingled with low filchers' slang; but the reply was forthcoming;
other questions, too, were answered tentatively; sometimes at length,
with repulsive fullness of detail. The speaker hesitated over words,
shot sharp, short looks at the other; from the hand that wrote, to the
fingers near that other object,--strong, firm fingers that seemed ready
to leap; ready to act on any emergency. Unless--a shadow appeared to