"Don't you!" retorted the other shortly. "Well, I mean exactly what I
say. I'm not buying any pictures, I'm buying--_you_. I have been keeping
an eye on you for the last three or four months. You're just the guy
I've been looking for. As far as I can make out, there ain't a dive or a
roost in the Bad Lands where you don't get the glad hand--eh?"

"I--I haven't done anything! Not a thing! I--I swear I haven't!"
Smarlinghue burst out frantically.

"Aw, forget it!" Clancy permitted a thin smile to flicker contemptuously
across his lips. "You've got a whole lot of friends that I'm interested
in. Get the idea? There ain't a crook in New York that's shy of you. You
got a 'stand-in' everywhere." He held up the ten-dollar bill. "There's
more of these--plenty of 'em."

Smarlinghue pushed back his chair now in a frightened sort of way.

"You--you mean you want me for--for a stool pigeon?" he faltered.

"You got it!" said Clancy bluntly.

Smarlinghue's eyes roved about the room in a furtive, terror-stricken
glance, his hand passed aimlessly over his eyes, and he crouched low
down in his chair.

"No, no!" he whispered. "No, no--for God's sake, Mr. Clancy, don't ask
me to do that! I can't--I can't! I--I wouldn't be any good, I--I can't!
I--I won't!"