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It was plain that Wilkinson was surprised to learn that Chatham knew Palermo; and it was also apparent that Wilkinson was not pleased.

“So you know Palermo?”

As Seth Wilkinson pronounced these words, he arose from his chair, walked across the room, and picked up a pipe that lay on the table. He stuffed the pipe with tobacco, and stared thoughtfully at the far wall of the room.

Then he turned savagely toward the man sitting in the chair.

“I’ll tell you what I think of Palermo!” he growled. “If I had that four-flusher here in this room, I’d give him a lacing that he would never forget! You can tell him that for me, Chatham!”

WILKINSON’S threat was not an idle one. He was a huge, powerful man, with a firm-set jaw that characterized a fighter.

Yet Palermo was unperturbed. Confident beneath his disguise, he simply looked mildly surprised at Wilkinson’s outburst.

“Let me tell you something about Palermo!” Wilkinson stopped his discourse long enough to light his pipe. “He’s a smooth rascal, who pretends to be a man of importance. I wouldn’t trust him for five minutes, and he knows it!”

“But you trusted him once,” objected Palermo, mimicking Chatham’s voice. “He told me so himself. In fact—”

“That was before he tried to swindle me,” interrupted Wilkinson bitterly.

“Listen, Chatham. I’ll wager that of all the people Palermo knows— and he is well acquainted among persons of wealth — I am the only one who understands his game. More than that — I’m the only one who can make trouble for him; and that’s exactly what I intend to do!”

“Why?”

“Chatham,” said Wilkinson, sitting in a chair, and twisting his pipe between his hands, “I’ve kept silent on this whole affair. I don’t know why you’ve come here, but since I know you well, I’m sure that Palermo is trying to dupe you, also.

“Six months ago, Palermo dropped in to see me. He told me about some wonderful experiments that he was conducting in his laboratory.

“I believed his story, and when he said that he needed thirty thousand dollars, I agreed to give it to him.

In fact, I was all ready to pay him the money with no security whatever, for I believed in him.

“But I suddenly came to my senses, and proposed that he sign a note for that amount. He tried to dodge the issue, but when I became suspicious, he suddenly acted in a very agreeable manner. He signed the note, and took the money.”

“Exactly what he told me,” interposed the man disguised as Horace Chatham.

“Yes,” retorted Wilkinson grimly, “but I’ll wager that he didn’t tell you anything further, did he?”

“No, he did not.”

Wilkinson laughed.

“I saw Palermo quite frequently after that. He was always talking of his great experiments — that they were coming well, but slowly. He was working up to what he wanted — an extension on the note.

“About two weeks ago, he dropped in to see me. He showed me some bonds on Consolidated Airways.

He suggested that I take them as security instead of his note.

“I looked over the bonds. They were better security, but I followed a hunch. I told Palermo to wait until the end of the six-month period; then I would take the bonds.

“That satisfied him, and he left.

“But I noticed something, Chatham. I remembered the numbers on two of the bonds. The next day, I began an investigation. I located the very same bonds that Palermo had shown me.

“I learned, positively, that his bonds were counterfeits!”

Wilkinson paused. “That revealed Palermo’s game. He thought that, with the bonds in my possession, I would grant him another six months at least — for the bonds were worth much more than the money he owed me.

“But suppose that he had never chosen to pay his debt? I would have been left with nothing but the fake bonds in my possession.”

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” objected Palermo.

“Not a chance of it,” replied Wilkinson. “I still have Palermo’s note. When it comes due — next week — I’m going to demand payment.

“If Palermo is short on cash, he will never cease to regret it.”

“This sounds incredible, Wilkinson,” objected the visitor. “Doctor Palermo told me of this matter, although he did not mention the matter of the bonds.

“He said that you held his note for thirty thousand dollars, but he did not think that you would renew it.

So I agreed to give you my note in its place in order to—”

“I wouldn’t accept it, Chatham.”

“Isn’t my security good?” There was a note of anger in the speaker’s voice.

“It’s too good,” replied Wilkinson tersely. “I don’t want your note. I want Palermo’s!”

“Suppose he doesn’t made it good?”

“That’s exactly what I expect.”

SILENCE followed. Wilkinson smiled as he studied his visitor. He suspected that Chatham was preparing a suggestion. This proved correct.

“Wilkinson,” said the disguised Doctor Palermo, “this is a great surprise to me. Yet I still doubt the correctness of your conclusions.

“If you are right, it means as much to me as to you; for, like yourself, I have trusted Doctor Palermo. If he is a faker — well, I should like to aid you in exposing him!”

“How can you do that?”

“By pretending to follow his scheme. By giving you my note, and holding Palermo’s in return.”

“That will give him time to raise the money.”

“I don’t think so. Does he suspect that you discovered anything wrong with the bonds he showed you?”

“No.”

“Very well, then. He will try to dupe me as he duped you; but I shall be on guard. I promise to notify you as soon as Palermo tries something. We will be able to catch him with the goods—”

“Capital!” exclaimed Wilkinson.

He rose and waved his hand to his visitor.

“Come into my study,” he said. “You can make out your note there; and I’ll give you Palermo’s. But hold onto it, at all costs.”

The two men entered a little room that adjoined the living room. Seth Wilkinson unlocked a desk drawer, and brought out a metal box.

Before he opened the box, he handed a blank form for a promissory note to his companion. Palermo filled it out; then, noticing that Wilkinson was busy unlocking the box, the disguised physician drew a card from his pocket. The card bore Horace Chatham’s signature.

Concealing the card within his left hand, Palermo copied the signature with remarkable skill as he signed the note. Then he pocketed the card, just as Wilkinson turned toward him.

“You have dated it tomorrow,” said Wilkinson, examining the note that bore the signature of Horace Chatham.

“No,” came the reply. “It is after midnight. The date is correct.”

Wilkinson smiled as he glanced at the clock on the desk. The hands registered a few minutes past twelve.

“Here is Palermo’s note,” he said.

“Thanks.”

WILKINSON was seated at the desk, before the metal box. That one word suddenly aroused him. He was thoughtful as he dropped the note with Chatham’s signature into the box.

He seemed to recall the voice that had spoken that word. He remembered a night, nearly six months before, when he had given thirty thousand dollars to Doctor Albert Palermo.

“Thanks.”

The word reechoed in Wilkinson’s brain. It was not Horace Chatham who had spoken it. The word had come from Doctor Palermo!

Wilkinson turned his head, and gazed shrewdly at the man beside him.

Doctor Palermo had forgotten the part that he was playing — had forgotten it in his triumph. Now Wilkinson’s eyes confirmed the suspicion that had come to his ears.

On the face of Horace Chatham he saw an expression that did not belong there. It was the characteristic smile of Doctor Albert Palermo — that smile that became ugly at the corners of the man’s mouth.