“That I would what, Miss Breen?” demanded Nash.
“That you would cheat your own city—the city you loved so well. Why, I remember that day you pointed out the work to me—and seemed so proud, so enthusiastic over the construction.”
“How have I cheated my city?” His tone was more of a command now, and he felt the hot blood mounting to his face. “How have I cheated my city, Miss Breen?”
“Do you remember the day I examined the steel siphons—the day you were showing me around the camp?”
“Yes.” Nash instantly recalled to mind the interest Miss Breen had shown in the work, and the unusual questions she had asked.
“The steel in those siphons is but seven-eighths of an inch in thickness,” she declared. “The specifications call for one and one-eighth inches.”
“Impossible!” Nash exclaimed. “That I should make such a mistake as that is preposterous. I have my specifications on file.”
He crossed the room, and took down the board upon which he kept the statements pinned. “Here is the last order from headquarters,” he said. “Hooker brought them to me over a month ago.” He ran his finger down the line of quotations. “Here—siphon steel for Soledad Cañon——”
He stopped, frowning; then he peered nearer. Miss Breen had followed him, and was looking over his shoulder.
“It says one-and-one-eighth-inch steel,” she declared.