"
And he held out a legal-looking paper toward Sanderson.
Sanderson's lips straightened, for as his eyes met Dale's he saw the
latter's glint with a cold cunning. For an instant Sanderson
meditated, refusing to accept the paper, divining that Dale was
concealing his real purpose; but glancing sidewise he caught a swift
wink from Owen, who had drawn near and was standing beside a porch
column. And he saw Owen distinctly jerk his head toward the house.
Sanderson stepped forward and took the paper from Dale's hand. Then he
abruptly strode toward the house, telling Dale to wait.
Sanderson halted in the middle of the sitting-room as Owen entered the
room through, a rear door. Barney Owen was grinning.
"Wants your signature, does he?" said Owen. He whispered rapidly to
Sanderson, and the latter's face grew pale and grim as he listened.
When Owen had finished he grinned.
"Now we'll give him Will Bransford's signature--just as he used to
write it. I've seen it more times than any other man ever saw it, and
I can duplicate it to a flourish.
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