"Never mind that," Levy stopped him. "This client of mine isn't interested in you or in your wife, but he evidently has a private spite against Gorham, who married her. He may not care to push it, but, if he does, do you see what the game is?"
"Sure I do, sure I do," Buckner answered, thickly. "Damned good game—I'll play it with you. It would hit her hard, too, wouldn't it?"
"What do you care if it does?"
"I don't care—glad of it—that's the special reason why I'm willing to play the game."
"All right; we'll get down to business. I'm going to draw up an affidavit that, as far as the divorce proceedings are concerned, you never retained any lawyer, and never were served with a summons, either in Colorado Springs or anywhere else; that you never knew of the pending of the action, nor that this suit was to be brought to trial. And you are to swear to this, do you understand?"
Buckner whistled suggestively. "What's the financial proposition?"
"Five thousand dollars if I use it; five hundred if I don't."
"Suppose Jennings turns up with those letters. There's a penalty for that, isn't there?"
"We'll take good care that Jennings doesn't turn up," Levy assured him, "and we would be taking all the risk."
It was Buckner's turn to become absorbed, and this time it was Levy who refilled his glass.