over the last of his wireless models and lifted the box back against the closet door.
"I am packing away my stuff for the night," he answered as he turned back to his operating-table and caught up his earphones. His action in doing so was simply a rite of repudiation. The gesture was not lost on the other man.
"I guess you're busy to-night," he said; "I won't take up your time. All I wanted was to close up that agreement of ours."
He reached into his pocket and drew out his roll of bills placidly, with the businesslike unconcern of a man contemptuous of small transactions. He counted off nine hundred and forty dollars, folded them together, and flung them on the pine table. McKinnon, all the while, was thinking of the half-shut closet door.
"That puts us even, doesn't it?" Duffy said, backing away a little. His movement brought him nearer to the ever-menacing door.
McKinnon was not in a state to argue it out with him. His strangely self-frustrating wish was still to cry everything off. But he was afraid of some second complication. And he had his own reasons why these should not arise.
"Yes, that makes us even," he admitted, suddenly remembering he had a witness to the strange business in hand. The intruder stepped back to the table again.
