To Him That Hath

by Leroy Scott

There was no tinge of enthusiasm in Rogers's pale cheeks. He did not speak at once, and when he did he ignored David's exclamations.

"Did you notice, Aldrich," he said in a strained voice, "that I avoided taking his hand when he offered it at first and again when we parted?"

"No. Why?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid?" repeated David, puzzled. "What of?"

"I shook hands with Bill Halpin—and you know what he found out."

David stepped nearer to Rogers, and saw in his eyes the look of hunted fear.

"I don't understand," he said slowly.

"Mr. Harris may be a bona-fide dealer in real estate—but fifteen years ago he was one of the cleverest detectives on the New York police force. I recognised him the instant I saw him. He helped arrest me once."

David sank slowly to a chair. "You don't say so!" he ejaculated. He stared for several moments at Rogers's thin face, on which he could now see the exhaustion of the straining interview. "Do you think he can possibly be on your trail?—and if so, what for?"