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By reason of his valvular resources Mr. Quinlan might shout louder than Geltfin. But he could not shout louder than Mr. Lobel. Nobody in that section of Southern California could. Mr. Lobel outblared him:

“How should you be knowing? You come now and ask me that when all along it was you that had the swell idee to stick him into the laboratory all by himself where he could play some funny business? You!”

“But it was you, Lobel, that wouldn’t listen to me when I begged you to wait and not burn up the negative. I tried to tell you that the negative was O. K. when I’d seen it run off.”

“You told me? It’s a lie!”

“Sure I told you! Geltfin remembers my telling you, don’t you, Geltfin? You’re an old bird, Lobel–you ought to know by now about retouching and doctoring and all. You know how easy it is to slip over a double exposure. But it was only the sample print that was doctored. The negative was all right, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s right too, Lobel!” shrilled Geltfin. “I heard him when he yelled out to you that you should wait!”

Quinlan amplified the indictment.

“Sure he heard me–and so did you! But no, you had to lose your nerve and lose your head just because you’d had a scare throwed into you.”

“I never lose my head! I never lose my nerve!” denied Mr. Lobel. He turned the counter tide of recriminations on Geltfin.

“Anyhow,–it was you started it, Geltfin–you in the first place, right here in this room, with your craziness about the dead coming back. Only for your fool talk I would never have had the idee of a ghost at all. And now–now when the cow is all spilt milk you two come and–“

“Oh, but Lobel,” countered Geltfin, “remember you was the one that made ’em burn up the negative without giving it a look at all!”

“He said it, Lobel!” reenforced Quinlan. “You was the one that just would have the negative burned up whether or no. And now it’s burned up!”

Mr. Lobel was not used to being bullied in his own office or elsewhere. If there was bullying to be done by anyone, he was his own candidate always. Surcharged with distracting regrets as he was, he had an inspiration. He would turn the flood of accusation away from himself.

“Where is that Josephson?” he whooped. “He is the one actually to blame, not us. Let me get my hands on that Josephson once!”

“You can’t!” jeered Quinlan. “He’s quit–he’s gone–he’s beat it! He wrote me a note, though, and mailed it back to me when he was beating it out of town, telling me to tell you how slick he’d worked it on you.” He felt in his pockets. “I got that note here somewhere–here it is. I’ll read it to you, Lobel–he calls you an old scoundrel in one place and an old sucker in another.”

“Look out–catch him, Quinlan!” cried Mr. Geltfin. “Look at his face–he’s fixing to faint or something.”

The prime intent of this recital, as set forth at the beginning, was to tell why Mr. Max Lobel had an attack of apoplexy. That original purpose having been now carried out, there remains nothing more to be added and the chapter ends.