kept on ever since."

Terry leaned across the table, his left arm outstretched to call the
sheriff's attention.

"I didn't catch that last name, sheriff," he said.

The talk was already beginning to bubble up at the end of the sheriff's
tale. But there was something in the tone of the boy that cut through the
talk to its root. People were suddenly looking at him out of eyes which
were very wide indeed. And it was not hard to find a reason. His handsome
face was colorless, like a carving from the stone, and under his knitted
brows his black eyes were ominous in the shadow. The sheriff frankly
gaped at him. It was another man who sat across the table in the chair
where the ingenuous youth had been a moment before.

"What name? Jack Hollis?"

"I think the name you used was Black Jack, sheriff?"

"Black Jack? Sure. That was the other name for Jack Hollis. He was mostly
called Black Jack for short, but that was chiefly among his partners.
Outside he was called Jack Hollis, which was his real name."

Terence rose from his chair, more colorless than ever, the knuckles of
one hand resting upon the table. He seemed very tall, years older, grim.

"Terry!" called Elizabeth Cornish softly.

It was like speaking to a stone.