“We’ve come for help in a charity case,” said Poole. “Will you give it?”
“I guess so,” replied Wolcott, cautiously. “It depends on the case.”
“Laughlin will explain. Fire away, Dave!”
And Laughlin rehearsed White’s tale as he had heard it, briefly, without adjectives or exclamation points to weaken the effect of the simple details, ending with an account of the victim’s present condition and the need of prompt action if he were to be saved serious illness. When he finished, Wolcott was sitting straight up, with eyes fixed on the narrator’s lips and a red spot burning on either cheek.
“Do you mean to tell me that Marchmont still owes that money?” he demanded.
Laughlin nodded: “That’s what I mean. He still owes it and is likely to owe it indefinitely.”
“Unless some one can get it out of him,” added Poole. “White won’t let us put it in Grim’s hands, and we have no influence with the fellow.”
“Then it’s up to me,” said Wolcott, jumping to his feet with a look of determination in his face. “I’ll have a try at him myself.” And before the others could utter a word, he had seized his hat and dived out the door.
The visitors looked at each other and laughed.
“Dead easy,” said Phil. “He’s the right kind, isn’t he? How quickly he caught on!”