“What is your experience?” questioned Desmond.
“Bank teller for the last three years,” answered Wallace mechanically. “Worked up-State—little town
called Halsworth. The bank went up. I came to New York. Figured a job—”
“Before that?”
“Before I worked in the bank? I had a real-estate office with my uncle. Developing a summer resort. It
went sour. I landed a job with the bank.”
“And before that?”
“Just odd jobs. I was in the army during the War. Served in France. Came back. Tried various forms of
work; then joined up with my uncle.”
DESMOND, chin in hand, was staring firmly at his visitor. Wallace wondered about that stare. He knew
that Desmond was on the point of asking an important question. He could not divine what it might be.
“You say you served in the army,” remarked Desmond. “Did you enjoy the excitement?”
Perry's eyes gleamed.
“Sure thing!” he declared. “Say—if I saw another opportunity like that one, I'd hop to it in a minute!”
“I know of a job,” mused Desmond reflectively. “It will require nerve. It may mean danger. Most of all, it
demands obedience to orders. Would you take it —without question?”
Perry Wallace eyed his questioner narrowly. He scented a hidden meaning in Desmond's tone. Despite
the fact that he was down and out, he was not willing to commit himself unknowingly.
“I do not believe so, Mr. Desmond,” he said coldly.
“There is excellent compensation,” replied the employment agent.
Perry Wallace shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
“What of it?” he asked. “There is excellent compensation for many jobs. Murder, for instance.”
“This does not involve murder,” declared Desmond.
“Crime, then?” questioned Perry shrewdly.
Desmond leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands.
“What if it did involve crime?” he asked.
“I would not be interested!” declared Perry.
“Crime is not involved,” said Desmond slowly. “You, yourself, will not be responsible for anything that
may occur through your acceptance of the position which I have to offer. Is that sufficient?”
“Yes,” said Perry quietly. He rose from his chair and placed his hat upon his head. “It is quite sufficient,
Mr. Desmond. It convinces me that I do not want to take the job.”
Desmond's eyes flashed. He was furious. Perry Wallace smiled at the oddity of the situation. Desmond
chewed his puffy lips. Then, as he saw Perry turning toward the door, he smiled in return and raised his
hand.
“Wait!” he called.
Perry turned.
“I can tell you more about this job,” said the employment manager. “I can convince you that it would be
wise for you to accept it. Does that sound fair?”
“Certainly,” replied Perry.
Desmond opened a drawer in the desk. He drew out a gleaming revolver and pointed it directly at Perry
Wallace.
“Sit down!” ordered Desmond, in a low, rasping voice. “Sit down and listen. You understand?”
Perry was motionless for a moment. A rush of scattered thoughts passed through his brain. He did not
believe that Desmond would dare to fire; at the same time, he realized that the man was angry. A chance
shot might lead to disastrous consequences. Perry pictured himself in conflict with this man— people
