their occasional roomer what he represented himself to be, a special
agent for one of the federal departments, a vocation which naturally
explained the Lizard's long absences and unusual hours.

Once within his room the Lizard sank into a chair and wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, although it was by no means a warm
night. He drew a folded paper from his inside pocket, which, when
opened, revealed a small piece of wrapping paper within. They were
Murray's letter to Bince and the enclosure.

"Believe me," muttered the Lizard, "that was the toughest job I ever
pulled off and all I gets is two pieces of paper, but I don't know but
what they're worth it."

He sat for a long time looking at the papers in his hand, but he did not
see them. He was thinking of other things: of prison walls that he had
eluded so far through years of crime; of O'Donnell, whom he knew to be
working on the Compton case and whose boast it had been that sooner or
later he would get the Lizard; of what might naturally be expected were
the papers in his hands to fall into the possession of Torrance's
attorney. It would mean that Murray would be immediately placed in
jeopardy, and the Lizard knew Murray well enough to know that he would
sacrifice his best friend to save himself, and the Lizard was by no
means Murray's best friend.

He realized that he knew more about the Compton murder case than any one
else. He was of the opinion that he could clear it up if he were almost
any one other than the Lizard, but with the record of his past life
against him, would any one believe him? In order to prove his assertion
it would be necessary to make admissions that might incriminate himself,