will I spoke of. Would you care to see that story on the streets? You may at any moment. There is but one way out. Buy the newspaper. Buy it now. Here is the plan—you go with me to your bank. You procure fifteen thousand in cash. We go together to the Mail office. You pay me the money and I leave you in charge."
Old Meyrick leaped to his feet.
"Very good," he cried. "Come on."
"One thing more," continued the crafty Gonzale. "It may pay you to note—we are watched. Even now. All the way to the bank and thence to the office of the Mail—we will be watched. Should any accident, now unforeseen, happen to me, that issue of the Mail will go on sale in five minutes all over San Marco."
Spencer Meyrick stood glaring down at the little man in white. His enthusiasm of a moment ago for the journey vanished. However, the head-lines of the Mail were staring up at him from the bench. He stooped, pocketed the paper, and growled:
"I understand. Come on!"
There must be some escape. The trap seemed
