"What has that man got to do with me?" I demanded.
Bud laughed out loud, with his deep-set eyes fixed on the other man.
"Why, that guy went mushy on you over two years ago!" was the half-sneering but altogether unexpected reply that came from Bud Griswold's unhappy lips. "That man's in love with you!"
I turned slowly about and stared at Wendy Washburn. But his face was a mask.
"That's not true!" I gasped.
"Then who'd you 'spose coughed up for all that convent life of yours?" inquired the white- faced man with the automatic. "You don't suppose I had heel enough for that, do you, when I couldn't even come across with enough to buy off those Michigan cops and keep out of Jackson?"
I looked from one man to the other. It was too much for me to believe.
"But this man is a bigger crook than you are," I tried to explain to Bud.
"Only he seems to do a neater line of work," was Bud's sneering comment. "And if you knew more about this house you're in, you'd be a little wiser about what I mean by that!"
Before I had time to say more he pushed me to
