Jim Hanvey, Detective. Octavus Roy Cohen

as against the relief he experienced in the freedom from fear of those mesmeric, expressionless eyes. As he stepped into the lobby he felt them fastened upon him.

      Cliff couldn't resist the impulse. Pent-up emotion demanded expression in words. Cliff knew that he must tell this heavy-set, slow-moving man that he had been outwitted. He strode across the lobby and pulled up short before the detective.

      “Well, Hanvey, you're too late.”

      The eyelids dropped slowly, then opened even more slowly. “Huh?”

      “I beat you to it.” Cliff was gripped by a moderate hysteria. “I’ve fixed everything—for myself. You don’t get a bit of glory. And I wanted the satisfaction of telling you that I’ve known from the first you suspected me.”

      Jim Hanvey's fishy eyes opened wide, then narrowed. His fat fingers fumbled awkwardly with the glittering gold toothpick. His demeanor was one of bewilderment and utter lack of comprehension.

      “What you talkin’ about, son? Suspected you of what?”

      Cliff felt suddenly cold. There was a disquieting ring of truth in the drawling voice. Was it possible that this hulk of a man had not suspected him, that the confession had been unnecessary? His trembling hands sought the pudgy shoulders of the detective.

      “You’ve been watching me and my cage, haven’t you?”

      “Sure.”

      “Well—why?”

      The big man's manner was genial, friendly. His dull round eyes blinked and his voice dropped discreetly. “Jest between us, son, I reckon there ain't no harm in me explainin’. 'Bout three years ago Spade Gormon, cleverest forger in the country, pulled an awful neat job in Des Moines. Then he dropped outa sight. We ain't heard nothin' of him till Headquarters got the tip he was operatin’ in this district. We knew good and well if he was he’d sooner or later try to slip a bum check over on this bank, it bein’ the biggest one hereabouts. So as I know Spade pretty well an’ personal, they sent me down here to loaf around until he showed up.”

      Cliff Wallaces' hands dropped limply to his sides. It was hard to understand. “Then you weren't even working on my case?”

      “No, I wasn’t workin' on your case. An’ if you went an’ confessed anything, you probably done yourself an awful dirty trick. Far as I’m concerned, son, I ain’t even been interested in your case since I got an inside tip it had been dropped.”