Towards seven o'clock that evening Bofinger presented himself at the door of a large double-fronted mansion, in one of the side streets of Murray Hill. Since the morning he had eaten nothing. Hunger and fatigue had given him the appearances of an extreme dissipation. His feet burned with cold and from time to time, to resuscitate them, he plunged his hands in his breast. A fine bead of snow had risen on his clothes, fastened to his hair, and caked over the collar, which had rolled up on one side.

The butler, who came to his ring, viewing with disfavor this desperate figure, exclaimed:

"Be off now, we can't do anything for you."

Too miserable to resent the insolence, he took an attitude of supplication.

"This is Mr. Hyman Groll's, ain't it?" he said meekly.

"And if it is?"

"Tell him it's Mr. Bofinger, Alonzo Bofinger."

"Mr. Groll is out," replied the butler aggressively, "and he won't be back to-night."

At this moment, when Bofinger was in despair, a carriage drawn by a team rolled swiftly up and stopped before the house. The butler, leaving Bofinger, ran down to the step and helped out the short, overhung figure of Hyman Groll, to whom he gave his arm to assist up the steps.

In the disordered figure on the stoop the hunchback failed to recognize the person of his former dapper partner. He stopped and, with a questioning glance, said:

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"It's me. It's Bofinger," the lawyer said humbly, removing his hat. "I'm in trouble, partner, I've got to see you."

Groll twitched violently, and drawing back with a start shoved the butler forward until his body interposed. Then after a moment of evident hesitation he said:

"Go in, I'll see you. Humphreys, take him into the library."

Bofinger, ushered by the astonished butler, was shown into a large room at the back where he remained deferentially, surveying the evidences of his associate's sudden rise in the world, at a loss to account for the cause.

In a moment Groll entered, stopped near the door, watched him, and in an almost defensive attitude said:

"Well, my boy, in trouble, eh? What is it?"

"Hyman, I'm done for!" said Bofinger, who at this moment reeled and fell into the chair.

"What's the matter with you, man?" Groll said, hobbling forward.

"I guess I'm weak," Bofinger said, passing his hands over his face. "I haven't had time to eat anything all day. Oh, what a day!"

Seeing that the case was urgent Groll rang, ordered some sandwiches and whisky, and presently, as though reassured, came and sat near Bofinger, eyeing him doubtfully.

"Here, now, eat something and drink this," he said, pouring him out a glass. "Talk afterward."

"Hyman, I'm up against it," Bofinger said, shaking his head.

"You are, eh? You look it. What's the matter?"

"I'm cleaned out."

"Bankrupt?"

"Ten times over."

"Well, let's hear it."

"Hyman, I got over my depth," Bofinger said gravely. "And I don't know where I stand now. That's why I want your advice." He paused, drew a breath and continued with a jerk: "Ever hear of Max Fargus?"

"The restaurant man? Didn't he disappear somehow in Mexico?"

"Disappear—hell, yes!" Bofinger cried with an incongruous laugh. "Look here, I've got to make a clean breast to you. You won't hold a little thing in the past against me, will you? You've done too well."

"Go ahead," Groll said with a nod. He settled in his chair and turned his glance on him; the same cold, emotionless scrutiny which Bofinger knew of old.

"When we were partners down by the old Jefferson Market," he began, withering somewhat under the look, "I struck the trail of Max Fargus by accident. He came to me to look up some girl he was in love with. I went over and struck a bargain with her and turned in a report that made the old boy marry her. Now, I'm making a clean breast," he added, faltering a little and dropping his glance. "I'm knocked out. You're at the top, you won't hold it against me, will you?"

"Go on—go ahead."

"I kept it from you—expecting to make a tidy bit out of it. I was to get half of whatever came to her."

"How much?"

"Half."

"You did well," Groll said with just a tinge of irony.

"Well!" Bofinger repeated with an oath. "I've acted like a fool throughout! And I thought myself so clever. Then I managed to work into the old fellow's confidence and everything went smoothly and I thought I saw a chance of doing something big. He must have been worth close to a million then."

"Go on—" said Groll as he stopped. "I'll ask you some questions later. Only what was the woman's name and who was she?"

"Sheila Vaughn or Morissey, a sort of third-rate actress," he answered.

The quick professional attitude of Groll recalled to Bofinger the traditions of their office. He forgot the personal note and lapsed into a technical voice, as he related the details of Fargus's departure, his suspicions, his discovery from Sheila of her husband's whereabouts, his tracing the miser to the scene of the hold-up, the fruitless efforts to discover the body and his return to Sheila with the news.

"You'll admit," he concluded doggedly, "That the situation was elegant. I had only to marry the widow to scoop in a fat fortune."

Groll raised a hand in objection.

"I mean, of course," Bofinger added hurriedly, "at the end of the seven years, which the law fixes. I can't get things straight to-night."

"Alonzo," Groll interposed with marked interest, "did you apply for a trust for the widow?"

"No, of course I didn't! That's just what I didn't want to do—then. I wanted to keep her in my hands to make sure of her, until I could marry her! Instead," he added, "I put up for her myself and got into the hands of that robber, Sammamon, doing it!"

Groll made a move as though to enter a question, and then relapsed, motioning him to proceed.

"As soon as the seven years were over and I could get the papers through I married the widow. To-day we went into court to begin proceedings for the possession of the estate—and Fargus turned up from the grave!"

"The devil you say!"

"But that's not all, he got away again," he said shamefacedly, "after we had both lost our heads and recognized him! And I haven't had a sign of him since then, though I've put the whole force on his track."

Groll emitted a whistle, which to him was an enormous concession.

"It was a conspiracy of course," Bofinger said sullenly. "Damn him! He planned it out—must have got on to our game somehow. That meant two thirds swept away."

"Why only two thirds?" interrupted Groll.

"There was her dower right, wasn't there?" Bofinger replied, doubtfully. "Surely the law would give her that?"

"I'm not sure of that," Groll objected. "There might be a question there."

"Well, anyhow, if it didn't, I had a plan to save it all right."

"Indeed," Groll said with interest. "How so?"

"I had a warrant sworn for him on a charge of desertion, complicated by conspiracy to deprive his wife of her dower rights. That is clear enough."

"Possibly—possibly yes," Groll said after a moment's drumming on his chair.

"Ah, but the worst is to come!" Bofinger said bitterly. "When I went to attach the property, I found Fargus had sold out everything seven years before!"

"But—"

"With the consent of the woman, of course! Gilday of the Union Bank told me he saw her give her consent himself!"

"The woman played crooked then—or they fooled her," Groll said softly, looking at Bofinger, who bent his head and bit his lips with repressed fury. "Then here's the situation," he began. "You can't get hold of Fargus, no property to attach, and you're in the clutches of Sammamon? How much do you owe him?"

"Over twelve thousand and he has attached all I had in the bank. That's the worst of all!"

"He was quick about it."

"He was slinking around the court, damn him, when Fargus turned up."

"Have you any other property?"

Bofinger took out a few bills and small change, saying:

"That's what I'm worth to-day. Not a cent more; I had banked all on that."

"So you're cleaned out?"

"Gutted!"

"Alonzo," Groll said, "you're in a bad way. Now I want to put some questions to you."

Bofinger nodded.

"I wanted to get things clear in my head. The woman, of course, has been the weak point. What were your relations?"

"Dog eat dog."

"You tried keeping her under by scaring her, then?"

"Yes."

Groll shook his head.

"A mistake, Alonzo. You ought to have made love to her. You can only bully a woman that way. Fear won't hold them! So she was sullen all the time?"

"Yes."

"Then she didn't want to go into the arrangement."

"You bet she didn't."

"It was a hold-up, then?"

"Yes."

"But how could you hold her after she married Fargus?"

Bofinger, in his misery, related without a gleam of pride what had once seemed to him a master stroke.

"I made her sign a common-law marriage with me, had it witnessed, and told her if she squealed I'd produce it and claim her."

"Alonzo," Groll said with a nod of approval, "you've had hard luck."

"Luck! I've been up against a fiend; that's what!"

"That idea of a common-law marriage was clever," Groll said musing. Then he added carelessly, "You squeezed that paper tight!"

"It ain't been out of my safe a moment."

"Now tell me why you didn't investigate the property?"

"I did—every bit of it, Hyman, right after the marriage." Bofinger said with a curse. "How was I to know that she'd given her name!"

"You ought to have looked it up again," Groll said, shaking his head.

"What was the use? I thought it was safe."

"You were wrong, Bo."

"Oh, of course! I know it."

"So you never suspected that she'd signed a paper?"

"Never!"

There was a pause until Groll took up evenly:

"Well, Alonzo, you want facts. Here they are. To begin, there's no doubt that this fellow Fargus got on to your game. He's planned the whole thing to revenge himself on you two, that's plain. He took his precautions in selling out, but fooled you by concealing the sale."

"Yes, that's plain."

"As to your case for conspiracy and desertion," Groll said reflectively, "all right, if you catch him. But by this time he's off and to run him down means money—a lot of it. When you find him he may be somewhere where you can't touch him. Of course he hasn't left a cent, here, for you to get at."

"No, damn him!"

"Now the point with you is where do you stand?"

Bofinger looked at him, waiting, as a man who knows there can be no favorable answer.

"Well, Alonzo, here's the truth. He's broken you! You owe twelve thousand to Sammamon, who'll get everything you have in the bank. What do you hold in notes on the woman?"

"About thirteen thousand," replied Bofinger, who was too ashamed to mention the higher figure.

"So much waste paper! Has she any debts?"

"I don't know—a thousand or two, perhaps."

"An interesting point might come up there," Groll said musing. "Whether you are liable for her debts. A husband is liable for the debts of the woman he marries. Though it don't make any difference; you'll go into bankruptcy."

"Oh, I'm knocked out!" Bofinger said, biting his lips to keep back the weak tears.

"Yes, Alonzo, you are," Groll said. "Haven't you got anything you can save?"

"Not a thing."

"Hasn't the woman any jewels? Get them if you can, but make sure first that they are free of debt, if you don't want to get in worse trouble."

"You're right," Bofinger said, starting up. "I'll get hold of them before Sammamon can put his claws on them."

"If I were you," Groll said softly as they went to the door, "I think I'd have an understanding with the woman. She's the one who's done you."

"I'll attend to her!"

"Nothing rash, Alonzo," Groll said with more curiosity than feeling. "You won't do anything rash?"

"Rash!" Bofinger cried with a wild laugh. "Oh, no! Nothing rash!"

And leaving Groll in profound meditation on the stoop he plunged down the steps, no longer caring for the cold or the storm.