e was merely getting his facts into the record, as it were. Already he had quizzed Rascon into a state of anger and re
sentment out of which the truth might be expected to slip unaware.
"Never saw it?" thundered Doyle. "What do you mean?"
There was only silence from Rascon. Then, as Doyle threatened, he answered, surlily, "Mrs. W
ilford paid me for the report—that is, for the copy of it."
A moment Doyle regarded him, then his virtuous ire rose
into towering wrath, even as though he had just heard the thing now for the first time.
"She paid you for it! You dirty hound—that's blackmail!"
Kennedy interrupted. "Is it true?" he demanded, tapping the