“I’m sorry for you, son,” he protested, “but that’s the funniest thing that’s come my way in two years.  And you buying me hot-house grapes, too, and fancy water!  I wish you could see your face,” he taunted.

Ford pretended to be greatly chagrined.

“All right,” he declared roughly.  “The laugh’s on me this time, but just because I lost one trick, don’t think I don’t know my business.  Now that I’m wise to what you are we can work together and—­”

[Illustration:  “Do I look as easy as that, or are you just naturally foolish?”]

The face of young Mr. Ashton became instantly grave.  His jaws snapped like a trap.  When he spoke his tone was assured and slightly contemptuous.

“Not with me you can’t work!” he said.

“Don’t think because I fell down on this,” Ford began hotly.

“I’m not thinking of you at all,” said Ashton.  “You’re a nice little fellow all right, but you have sized me up wrong.  I am on the ’straight and narrow’ that leads back to little old New York and God’s country, and I am warranted not to run off my trolley.”

The words were in the vernacular, but the tone in which the young man spoke rang so confidently that it brought to Ford a pleasant thrill of satisfaction.  From the first he had found in the personality of the young man something winning and likable; a shrewd manliness and tolerant good-humor.  His eyes may have shown his sympathy, for, in sudden confidence, Ashton leaned nearer.

“It’s like this,” he said.  “Several years ago I made a bad break and, about a year later, they got on to me and I had to cut and run.  In a month the law of limitation lets me loose and I can go back.  And you can bet I’m going back.  I will be on the bowsprit of the first boat.  I’ve had all I want of the ‘fugitive-from-justice’ game, thank you, and I have taken good care to keep a clean bill of health so that I won’t have to play it again.  They’ve been trying to get me for several years—­especially the Pinkertons.  They have chased me all over Europe.  Chased me with all kinds of men; sometimes with women; they’ve tried everything except blood-hounds.  At first I thought you were a ‘Pink,’ that’s why—­”

“I!” interrupted Ford, exploding derisively.  “That’s good! That’s one on you.”  He ceased laughing and regarded Ashton kindly.  “How do you know I’m not?” he asked.

For an instant the face of the bookmaker grew a shade less red and his eyes searched those of Ford in a quick agony of suspicion.  Ford continued to smile steadily at him, and Ashton breathed with relief.

“I’ll take a chance with you,” he said, “and if you are as bad a detective as you are a sport I needn’t worry.”

They both laughed, and, with sudden mutual liking, each raised his glass and nodded.

“But they haven’t got me yet,” continued Ashton, “and unless they get me in the next thirty days I’m free.  So you needn’t think that I’ll help you.  It’s ‘never again’ for me.  The first time, that was the fault of the crowd I ran with; the second time, that would be my fault.  And there ain’t going to be any second time.”