Why don't you tell me again that I lie--Carling ?" But now the man made no answer.

He had sunk a little deeper in his chair--a dawning look of terror in the eyes that held, fascinated, on Jimmie Dale.
"You cur!" said Jimmie Dale again.

"You cur, with your devil's work! A year ago you saw this night coming--when you must have money, or face ruin and exposure.

You saw it then, a year ago, the day that Moyne, concealing nothing of his prison record, applied through friends for a position in the bank.

Your co-officials were opposed to his appointment, but you, do you remember how you pleaded to give the man his chance--and in your hellish ingenuity saw your way then out of the trap! An ex-convict from Sing Sing! It was enough, wasn't it?
What chance had he!" Jimmie Dale paused, his left hand clenched until the skin formed whitish knobs over the knuckles.
Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them--and he tried to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
"I'll not waste words," said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone.