“Where next?” asked the driver huskily.

“The finest place for a kidnapping is Forty-second and Broadway,” answered Johnny with his mind made up.

“I’ll take you all the way,” almost begged the chauffeur.  “You’re the only sport that ever handed me enough for a night ride, and I’d like to hand you good service.”

“I don’t know who else pays you,” laughed Johnny, and his chauffeur, with a mighty respect for his fare, drove to Forty-second and Broadway, where Johnny paid him.

They walked to Johnny’s apartments, and on their arrival Johnny produced the bonds, spreading them out on his table.

“About the first thing is to sign these,” he suggested to Gresham.

That abused young man, who had been in the constant expectation of hearing himself yell for the police, but had been as constantly disappointed, had walked along like a gentleman; now, at last, he found his voice.

“This is an outrage!” he exclaimed.

“I know it,” agreed Johnny.  “It’s even high-handed.  Here’s a fountain-pen.”

“I refuse,” maintained Gresham.  “Why should I assign my own personal property to you?”

“Because your personal property is mine,” Johnny informed him.  “I don’t owe you any explanation, Gresham, but I’ll make one.  You helped Birchard forge his power of attorney from the Wobbles brothers, and you were with him in taxi 23406 when he collected my million from the First National.  You were seen again that night with Birchard on the Boston Post Road, and from then on Birchard dropped off the earth; but you didn’t.  You got Jacobs to buy you these bonds, and Jacobs is a piker.  He confessed and begged for mercy.  You’re through.”

Gresham held doggedly to the thought that never, under any circumstances, must he admit a criminal action; for such a thing was so far beneath him.

“I deny everything that you have said,” he declared.

Johnny had a sudden frantic picture of this man touching the hand of Constance, and he leaned across the table until his face was quite close to Gresham’s.  The muscles in his jaws grew uncomfortably nervous.

“Did you ever hear of the third degree?” he inquired.  “Well, I’m going to put you through it.”

“The third degree?” faltered Gresham.  “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“You don’t?” replied Johnny.  “It begins this way”—­and the watchful Loring suddenly hung on Johnny’s arm with his full weight.

“Don’t!” implored Loring.

“I’m going to smash his head in!” husked Johnny, quivering with an anger to which he had not given way for years.

“Wait a minute!” pleaded Loring, pulling on him with all his strength.  “Wait, I say!  I want to help you, but you’re in wrong.  Listen to me”—­and he drew his reluctant client away from the table.  “I’ve no objections to your thrashing Gresham and I’d like to be your proxy, but you’d better put it off.  If you compel Gresham by force to sign these bonds he can repudiate that action under protection of the court and it will work against you.”