"Risk? God, man! Can't you guess how I dream of those poor devils I sent to their death in the airplane job? I hate the money I got! I—I—"
"See here," said the other voice impatiently, "that was a mistake, and you know it. We didn't intend murder, but the explosion was delayed. No one will get hurt to-night."
"Not through me," declared Tom.
"If you fail us, you'll come to grief."
"If I come to grief, so will you. Peach on me, and I'll blow the whole deal." There was a moment's silence.
"Would three thousand satisfy you?" demanded the tempter.
"No," asserted Tom stoutly; "I'm goin' to quit. What's done can't be undone, but I'm through with you. It—it's too blamed terrible, that's what it is! Leave me alone an' let me turn honest. Why don't you do the job yourself?"
"I think I will," said the other calmly. "If you intend to turn down a good thing, I'll do my own work and save the money. But remember, Linnet, silence is your only salvation. Don't talk at all; if you do, you're liable to say the wrong thing—and you can't afford to do that."
"I'm no fool," responded the night clerk, a shade of relief in his tone. "But don't come to me again, Professor. I'm done with you."
Professor! Josie felt a distinct shock. She had to flatten herself against the wall, too, and remain rigid, for the man abruptly turned the corner and marched down the driveway. Half way to the brilliantly lighted street he dodged behind the building opposite the hotel, threading his way through narrow back yards. Josie followed, swift and silent. Finally they reached a place where the man was forced to pass beneath the rays of a lamp and Josie was near enough to see his face. It was, in reality, Professor John Dyer.