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In it were many persons not averse to curry favor with a New York official, and many persons indirectly in touch with the home Department. These persons he assiduously sought out, one by one, and in twelve hours' time his net had been woven completely about the city. And, so far as he could learn, Binhart was still somewhere in that city.
You could n't get me back to New York alive, any more than you could take Victoria Peak to New York!" "All right, then, I 'll take you along the other way, if I ain't going to take you alive. I 've followed you a good many thousand miles, Connie, and a little loose talk ain't going to make me lie down at this stage of the game." Binhart sat studying the other man for a moment or two.
It was not until the evening of the following day that these agents learned Binhart had made his way to the Marina, bribed a water-front boatman to row him across the bay, and had been put aboard a freighter weighing anchor for Marseilles.
But no hint or word of Binhart was to be gleaned from those wanderings, and at the end of a week he boarded a fruit steamer bound for Kingston. His strength came back to him slowly during that voyage, and when he landed at Kingston he was able to walk without a stick. At Kingston, too, his draft on New York was finally honored.
"This Binhart hunt is ended," repeated Copeland, and in the eyes looking down at him Blake saw that same vague pity which had rested in the gaze of Elsie Verriner. "By God, it's not ended!" Blake thundered back at him. "It is ended," quietly contended the other. "And precisely as you have put it Ended by God!" "It's what?" cried Blake.
"In the first place, this Binhart case is a closed issue." "Not with me!" cried Blake, feeling himself surrendering to the tide that had been tugging at him so long. "They may be able to buy off you cuff-shooters down at Headquarters. They may grease your palm down there, until you see it pays to keep your hands off. They may pull a rope or two and make you back down.
"To the pen," was the answer which rose Blake's lips. But he did not utter the words. Instead, he rose impatiently to his feet. But the man on the bed must have sensed that unspoken response, for he opened his eyes and stared long and mournfully at his heavy-bodied enemy. "You 'll never get me there!" he said, in little more than a whisper. "Never!" Binhart was moved that night up into the hills.
It seemed like going back to another world to another life, as he sat there coercing his memory to meet the past, the abysmal and embittered past which he had grown to hate. "Are you trying to say this Binhart case was a frame up?" he suddenly cried out. "They wanted you out of the way. It was the only trick they could think of." "That's a lie!" declared Blake. "It's not a lie.
All he wanted was Binhart. "Binhart's in Guayaquil," McGlade suddenly announced. "How d' you know that?" promptly demanded Blake. "I know the man who sneaked him out from Balboa. He got sixty dollars for it. I can take you to him. Binhart 'd picked up a medicine-chest and a bag of instruments from a broken-down doctor at Colon. He went aboard a Pacific liner as a doctor himself. "What liner?"
"There will be no difficulty on the expense side," quietly interposed the Commissioner. "The city wants Binhart. The whole country wants Binhart. And they will be willing to pay for it." Blake rose heavily to his feet. His massive bulk was momentarily stirred by the prospect of the task before him.
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