Page:Wadsworth Camp--the gray mask.djvu/176

166 Black followed with uncertain steps. The light shone on his sallow face out of which heavy eyes looked distrustfully.

"What do you want?" he asked. "What does Manford want?"

"Don't trouble to sit down, Mr. Black," Garth directed. "I've little time—just enough to tell you that I'm on to you."

Black with an odd, halting motion reached the centre table. His fingers shaking, he lifted a cigarette from a silver box and essayed to strike a match. The wood splintered. He fumbled aimlessly about the table. He took the unlighted cigarette from his mouth. He stammered.

"Wh—what the devil do you mean?"

"No use bluffing," Garth said. "You give yourself away. But don't get too scared. I'm the only one who knows."

The other's voice was scarcely audible.

"Who are you?"

Garth threw back his coat lapel, displaying momentarily his badge.

Black's voice rose on a shrill note.

"It's a lie! It's a lie!"

Garth shook his head.

"I watched you last night," he said, "planting money here and there—a pretty, generous fancy, just to give people the joy of finding it. Men don't do such things in their right senses. I've heard of it, but the fact that you were the brother-in-law of the head of an organization that was after these