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Updated: May 13, 2025
"It's merely a phase of departmental business," he answered her. "And we 're anxious to see Blake round up Connie Binhart." "That's not true," she answered with neither heat nor resentment, "or you would never have started him off on this blind lead. You 'd never have had me go to him with that King Edward note and had it work out to fit a street in Montreal.
Blake saw the crimson that dripped on her matting slippers and maculated the cream white of the mandarin coat. "But where's Binhart?" he demanded, as he looked stolidly about for his black boulder. "Never mind Binhart," she cried, touching the eviscerated body at her feet with one slipper toe, "or we 'll get what he got!" "I want that man Binhart!" persisted the detective. "Not here!
"You are quite wrong there," began the man across the table from her. "Administration changes may happen, and in " "In other words, you 're getting Jim Blake out of the way, off on this Binhart trail, while you work him out of the Department." "No competent officer is ever worked out of this Department," parried the First Deputy.
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. "Not once," he asserted. "You promise me that?" "Of course," answered the Second Deputy. "And you 'll let me alone on on the other things?" she calmly exacted.
"I 'm looking for a man called Connie Binhart," he finally confessed, as he continued to study that ruinous figure in front of him. It startled him to see what idleness and alcohol and the heat of the tropics could do to a man once as astute as Dusty McGlade. "Then why didn't you say so?" complained McGlade, as though impatient of obliquities that had been altogether too apparent.
But to his own appearance he gave scant thought. For new life came to him when he found definite traces of Binhart. These traces he followed up, one by one, until he found himself circling back eastward along the valley of the Magdalena.
"Then it is a plant!" she proclaimed. "You misunderstand me, Miss Verriner. Blake will not come back as an official. There will be changes in the Department, I imagine; changes for the better which even he and his Tammany Hall friends can't stop, by the time he gets back with Binhart." The woman gave a little hand gesture of impatience.
The thought of this rising water and what it meant did not fill him with panic. He seemed more the prey of a deep and sullen resentment that his plans should be so gratuitously interfered with, that his approach to the Trunella should be so foolishly delayed, that so many cross-purposes should postpone and imperil his quest of Binhart.
Blake sipped his bruilleau, glanced casually at his watch, and took out a cigar and lighted it. He blinked contentedly across the table at the man he was "buzzing." The trick had been turned. The word had been given. He knew that Binhart was headed westward again.
The little painted face grew serious; then it became veiled. "How much money has he?" "That's what I want to find out!" She squatted ruminatively down on the edge of her divan. It was low and wide and covered with orange-colored silk. "Then you'll have to find Binhart!" was her next announcement. "Maybe!" acknowledged Blake. "I can show you where he is!" "All right," was the unperturbed response.
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