"Nonsense. I'd stake my life on her. Why, she's prostrated. It's either pure blackmail, or it's my wife's work. She's had detectives on me for some time." Merkle murmured something more. "Oh, come now! I know what I'm talking about, and I won't stand for that," cried Hammon.
Merkle shrugged; his next words were audible, and they were both sharp and incisive.
"The harm's done. They got away clean. Now we've got to kill the story and kill it quick in case they intend it for the papers."
"My God! Newspapers—at this time," groaned the other. "It couldn't be worse."
"Right. We must move fast. Is your car here?"
"Yes."
"Get it. We'll go in with you. I had an accident to mine."
"You'll see for yourself that you're wrong—about the other." Hammon jerked his head meaningly toward the house, then strode away to order his motor.
Merkle favored his young companion with a wintry smile.
"It seems we're too late."