proprietor parted with money without screaming for help, and no regular newspaper is run like that. But—when you're down and out, you know—"
"I understand," said Minot, smiling. "And I'm sorry I called you what I did. I apologize. And I hate to be a—er—a killjoy. But as a matter of fact, your employer is a blackmailer, and it's best you should know it."
"Yes," put in Paddock. "Do you gentlemen happen to have heard where the editor of Mr. Gonzale's late newspaper, published in Havana, is now?"
"We do not," said O'Neill, "but maybe you'll tell us."
"I will. He's in prison, doing ten years for blackmail. I understand that Mr. Gonzale prefers to involve his editors, rather than himself."
O'Neill came over and held out his hand to Minot.
"Shake, son," he said. "Thank God I didn't waste my strength on you. Gonzale will be in here in a minute—"
