"No, ma'am," said the leader; "I don't reckon you favour him much."
Admiration was apparent in his voice. Clyde smiled at him.
"Then perhaps you'll take a look at my room now, and allow me to retire again."
"I don't need to look there, ma'am," the man replied. "I'm awful sorry we troubled you."
"That's the way to talk," said a quiet voice from the door.
The leader whirled instantly to look into the ominous muzzle of a heavy automatic held by Casey Dunne.
"Put that gun down, and your hands up!" snapped Casey. "Quick! No nonsense! I'll kill the first man that tries anything."
The quiet had gone from his voice; it bit like acid. Strange, hard lights danced in his eyes. The hand that held the gun had not a tremor. Clyde, looking at him, saw and recognized in his face the cold deadliness which she had once seen in McHale's.
Without an instant's hesitation the leader put his weapon on the table. "You win once," he observed.
"That's sensible," Casey commented. "Now, perhaps you'll tell me what this means?"