to articles in the Sunday edition." He wheeled and faced Miss La Rue.
"Do you remember them?"

"No; I never see the _Star_."

"Well, I do, and sometimes she's damn clever. I'll bet she's the girl."

"A New York newspaperwoman; well, what do you suppose she is doing out
here? After us?"

Enright had a grip on himself again and slowly relit his cigar, leaning
back, and staring out the window. His mind gripped the situation coldly.

"Well, we'd best be careful," he said slowly. "Probably it's merely a
coincidence, but I don't like her lying to Beaton. That don't look just
right. Yet the _Star_ can't have anything on us: the case is closed in
New York; forgotten and buried nearly a month ago. Even my partner don't
know where I am."

"I had to show John the telegram in order to get some money."

"You can gamble he won't say anything--there's no one else?"

"No; this game ain't the kind you talk about."

"You'd be a fool to trust anybody. So, if there's no leak we don't need
to be afraid of her, only don't let anything slip. We'll lay quiet and
try the young lady out. Beaton here can give her an introduction to Miss
La Rue, and the rest is easy. What do you say, Celeste?"