"Oh, some alarmist tale about somebody robbing father. I didn't quite
make out what it was all about, but it had something to do with the
pay-roll."

Bince went white. "Don't believe anything that fellow says," he
exclaimed excitedly: "he's nothing but a crook. Elizabeth, can't you
make your father realize that he ought to get rid of the man, that he
ought to leave things to me instead of trusting an absolute stranger?"

"I have," replied the girl, "and he was on the point of doing it until
Torrance told him this story."

"Something will have to be done," said Bince, "at once. I'll be over to
see your father in the morning. Good-by, dear," and he hung up the
receiver.

After Jimmy left the Compton home he started to walk down-town. It was
too early to go to his dismal little room on Indiana Avenue. The Lizard
was still away. He had seen nothing of him for weeks, and with his going
he had come to realize that he had rather depended upon the Lizard for
company. He was full of interesting stories of the underworld and his
dry humor and strange philosophy amused and entertained Jimmy.

And now as he walked along the almost deserted drive after his recent
unpleasant scene with Elizabeth Compton he felt more blue and lonely
than he had for many weeks. He craved human companionship, and so strong
was the urge that his thoughts naturally turned to the only person other
than the Lizard who seemed to have taken any particularly kindly
interest in him. Acting on the impulse he turned west at the first cross