"How do I know you come from her?" he shot out. "Maybe you're bulls."
Kennedy quickly reassured him. "You can arrange the matter any way that's safest to you," he repeated.
I had been so intent on our own little affair that I had not noticed that a couple of new-comers had entered from the side door and were at a table not far from us.
It had not escaped the shifty eyes of our customer. He gave a perceptible start and in an instant was as dumb as an oyster.
Kennedy's cold steel eye seemed to bore right into the gaze of our man now as he leaned forward and whispered to him something I did not hear until, as Craig drew back, I could catch the last of it—"And as sure as the Lord made little apples, I'll shoot if you don't take me up to where you've got the goods. If you do—you get the money."
I glanced about hastily and saw that Kennedy's hand was hidden in his pocket, which bulged as if something metallic were held there under cover.
The fellow glanced sullenly from us to the new arrivals, as though in a quandary.
"You got the money with you?" he asked, rather shakily.
"Yes," Kennedy cut short.
"'Cause I'll have to beat it the back way—and we got to work fast," he explained, his eyes roving from the burly bartender, who had just gone out to the couple at the other table, apparently oblivious to us.