"He didn't mean to shoot. He wouldn't have shot again."
"Then he was damned careless," Gerald replied. "One barrel of a shotgun is plenty for me. It was coming to him."
But in a rolling explosion of oaths Gavin cursed his brother for a fool. He had spilt the beans. There would be a devil of a row. They would have to make a get-away.
"What for—if he can't talk?" Gerald asked.
But at that moment Larry uttered an exclamation. He pointed to a window. Against the pane below the drawn blind was a face white in the reflected light. Almost instantly it vanished. Outside they heard running feet.
"How about a get-away now?" Gavin demanded. "He's gone to get help. I know him. He's a clerk in Park's law office."
"I guess that settles it," Gerald concurred coolly. Swiftly he scooped the remaining currency into the sack. "Well," he added, "we've got something to make a get-away on."
"Come on, come on," young Larry urged.
"Keep cool," said Gerald.
"If you'd kept cool," the younger man retorted, "we could have bluffed Braden."