"Well, we 'll begin on something nearer home!" he cried.

He reached down into his pocket and produced a small tinted oblong of
paper. He held it, face out, between his thumb and forefinger, so that
she could read it.

"This Steinert check 'll do the trick. Take a closer look at the
signature. Do you get it?"

"What about it?" she asked, without a tremor.

He restored the check to his wallet and the wallet to his pocket. She
would find it impossible to outdo him in the matter of impassivity.

"I may or I may not know who forged that check. I don't _want_ to
know. And when you tell me where Binhart is, I _won't_ know."

"That check was n't forged," contended the quiet-eyed woman.

"Steinert will swear it was," declared the Second Deputy.

She sat without speaking, apparently in deep study. Her intent face
showed no fear, no bewilderment, no actual emotion of any kind.

"You 've got 'o face it," said Blake, sitting back and waiting for her
to speak. His attitude was that of a physician at a bedside, awaiting
the prescribed opiate to produce its prescribed effect.

"Will I be dragged into this case, in any way, if Binhart is rounded
up?" the woman finally asked.