Silverthorn was sitting at his desk scowling, his face pale with big, heavy lines in it showing the strain of his interview with Sanderson.
"Bransford's been here!" guessed Dale, looking at Silverthorn.
Silverthorn nodded, cursing.
"You don't need to feel conceited," laughed Dale; "he's been to see me, too." Dale related what had happened on the street some time before, and Silverthorn's scowl deepened.
"There are times when you don't seem to be able to think at all, Dale!" he declared.

"After this, when you decide to do a thing, see me first--or Maison.

The last thing we want to happen right now is to have this fake Bransford killed." "Why ?" "I've just got word from Las Vegas that he's submitted his affidavit establishing his identity, and that the court has accepted it.

That settles the matter until--or unless--we can get evidence to the contrary.

And if he dies without us getting that evidence we are through." "Him dyin' would make things sure for us," contended Dale.