“Eight or ten years.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Hinse. “There is a chance, but it is a desperate chance—so desperate that I really can’t afford to take this on my usual contingent fee.”
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Moffat.
“I mean,” explained Hinse, “that I’ll get the money for you if any one can, but I’ll have to charge five dollars in advance.”
Mrs. Moffat hesitated.
“I got it,” she said, “but it’s rent money.”
“There’s more than rent in this,” declared Hinse, “but why should I take all the risk? It is a hard case and will take a great deal of my time, but I know these people, and I think I can work it out of them. You happened to come to just the right man.”
Mrs. Moffat was sitting on the opposite side of the desk from Hinse, which she deemed fortunate at this critical moment.
“There ain’t any safe place to leave money at home,” she explained apologetically, “an’ a woman don’t have safe pockets like a man.”
She made a dive down behind the desk, there was a sound of moving skirts, and she straightened up with three bills in her hand—a five and two ones. She handed the five to Hinse, who promptly tucked it away in his vest pocket.