"Armstrong's out there and wants to see you. If you don't let him in, you'll go up for conspiracy and for acceptin' a bribe—and I'll send you up, me lad! Macgowan is back o' that fine job in New York; he's a silent partner in this Milligan law firm. Lord help ye, Windsor, if this ever busts loose in the papers! Now, I know you're square. I know ye weren't aware to Macgowan's part in this. Going to see Armstrong or not? You're in a deep hole, me lad; crawl out of it quick!"
Windsor stared at his informant; into his face crept a species of horrified comprehension. Those blunt words hit him like so many hammers, jarring the truth into him with smashing impact. Nor did he so much as protest the veracity of this information.
"Dorns—is this a fact—about Macgowan?"
"A cold fact," said Dorns. "We know you're square; that's why we're holdin' nothing back. Give Armstrong a hearing—that's all I ask. If you're still satisfied he's a crook, then go ahead; we'll never bleat a word about this bribery thing. But, if ye don't so much as give us a show for our white alley, I'll raise hell's roof with it! Yes or no, me lad?"
Windsor drew a deep breath, realizing that Dorns meant every word, and assented.
"All right. Bring him in. Are you acting with him, for him?"
"Nope. I'm listening with him, that's all. I know he's on the level."
Dorns turned to the door. The gaze of Windsor followed him in puzzled and startled surmise, provoked by those final curt words.
When Armstrong came in, Windsor was seated at his desk, and looked up with a brief nod of greeting; he was once more himself, and motioned silently to chairs. Both men sat down.
"What is it you want?" asked Windsor, steadily regarding Armstrong.