The Delafield Affair. Florence Finch Kelly

and a gleam of angry resentment flashed into his dark eyes. But it was quickly repressed, as he suavely asked, “Well, what do you say?”

      “I don’t know that I can promise,” said Curtis, stiffly, “that my influence would count as much as that. Possibly it will be enough to keep him from supporting Dellmey Baxter. Yes,” he went on with a grim look, “I think I can assure you he will be neutral through the rest of this campaign.”

      “That might perhaps be satisfactory,” said Jenkins meditatively, inwardly deciding to raise the price another hundred dollars in lieu of the aid for Martinez. “But if that is all you’re sure of doing I shall have to ask more money for the information. It has cost me a great deal of time and effort, and if I can’t bring about this result with it I must repay myself some other way. I will tell you what you want to know, Mr. Conrad, if you will give me five hundred dollars and your promise to do your best to get him to support Martinez.”

      “That is what I said I could not do; and you are asking more money because I could not promise it.”

      “Well, then, if you will promise to induce him to remain neutral during this campaign.”

      “Yes; I will promise that, and I will give you the five hundred dollars.”

      “Very well; it’s a bargain.”

      Curtis wrote his check for that sum on the First National Bank of Golden. Jenkins examined the bit of paper, folded it away in his pocket-book, rubbed his hands, and smiled at Conrad.

      “You will be surprised,” he said, “when you hear the man’s name. He is well known to you, and he is universally regarded, all over New Mexico, as a model citizen, as square and honest as any man in the Territory—and much more so than most of them.”

      “Yes?” said Conrad, rising and reaching for his hat.

      “Yes, you will be astonished, I promise you,” Jenkins went on, rising and facing Curtis, still smiling and rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. “For Sumner L. Delafield, the fugitive from justice,”—he began speaking slowly and impressively,—“the absconding defaulter, the man who sank the fortunes of hundreds of people, the man who had to hide in Canada and slink around in out-of-the-way places for so many years, is now known as”—there was a brief pause to give his revelation its fullest dramatic effect—“is now known in New Mexico as Alexander Bancroft, president of the bank on which your check is drawn.”

      Conrad started, and his attitude of eager attention stiffened. For an instant half a dozen Jenkinses seemed to be whirling about the room. Out of the repugnance, contempt, and anger boiling in his veins shot a definite idea,—the desire to choke the man who had said this thing about his best friend. He leaped forward, seized Jenkins by the collar, and shook him as if he had been a ten-year-old boy. Although his arms were flying hither and yon Jenkins grabbed wildly for the pistol in his pocket. Curtis saw the movement, and with his left hand seized the butt. As he pulled it out Jenkins caught its barrel; but with a twist of his right arm and a jerk with his left Conrad wrested the gun from the other’s hand and threw it under the bed.

      His face white and his eyes blazing, he grasped Jenkins by the shoulders and jammed him against the wall until the windows rattled. With two quick, backward strides he gained the door. Opening it with a hand stretched behind him, Curtis spoke with deliberate emphasis, pointing his words with a menacing forefinger:

      “Rutherford Jenkins, you are the damnedest liar and vilest skunk that ever made tracks in New Mexico, and if you ever tell that lie about Bancroft to another living soul I’ll wring your neck!”

      Jenkins sprang toward the door, but as it closed from without he stooped, shook himself together, and swore under his breath. He took out the check, and chuckled. “I’ll get it cashed before he changes his mind,” he thought. Then a wave of anger and resentment rolled over him and he shook an impotent fist at the closed door. “Damn him!” he said aloud, “I’ll get even with him yet.”