"
"Did I say anything about prison?" Durand asked. "There's other kinds
of grief beside being in stir. I've got this guy right."
"Just what do you mean, Mr. Durand?"
"I mean that he hired me to get Lindsay in bad with you and the girl.
He was to be caught at the Omnium Club with a woman when the police
raided the place, and it was to get into the papers."
"I don't believe it," said Whitford promptly.
"You will. I had a dictagraph in the room when Bromfield came to see
me. You can hear it all in his own voice."
"But there wasn't any woman with Lindsay at Maddock's when the raid was
pulled off."
"Sure there wasn't. I threw Bromfield down."
"You arranged to have Lindsay killed instead."
"Forget that stuff. The point is that if you don't call off the
district attorney, I'll tell all I know about son-in-law Bromfield.
He'll be ruined for life."
"To hear you tell it."
"All right. Ask him."
"I shall."
"Conspiracy is what the law calls it. Maybe he can keep outa stir.
But when his swell friends hear it they'll turn their backs on
Bromfield. You know it."
"I'll not know it unless Mr. Bromfield tells me so himself. I don't
care anything for your dictagraph. I'm no eavesdropper."
"You tell him what he's up against and he'll come through all right.
I'll see that every newspaper in New York carries the story if you
don't notify me to-day that this attack on me is off. I'll learn you
silk stockings you can't make Jerry Durand the goat.
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