oner and his prisoner's haul; he wanted his final accomplishment to be complete.
"But how 'd we ever handle the deal?" prompted the tired-bodied man on the burro.
"You remember a woman called Elsie Verriner?"
"Yes," acknowledged Blake, with a pang of regret which he could not fathom, at the mention of the name.
"Well, we could fix it through her."
"Does Elsie Verriner know where that pile is?" the detective inquired. His withered hulk of a body was warmed by a slow glow of anticipation. There was a woman, he remembered, whom he could count on swinging to his own ends.
"No, but she could get it," was Binhart's response.
"And what good would that do me?"
"The two of us could go up to New Orleans. We could slip in there without any one being the wiser. She could meet us. She 'd bring the stuff with her. Then, when you had
