"Viney. Did you let him have the stuff?"
"What stuff? When?"
"What stuff? That's a rum thing to ask. Unless—O!" George dropped his voice and put his face closer. "Anybody to hear?" he whispered.
"No."
"Then why ask what stuff? You didn't let him have it this morning, did you?"
"Dunno what you mean. Never seen him this morning."
Blind George retracted his head with a jerk, and a strange look grew on his face: a look of anger and suspicion; strange because the great colourless eye had no part in it. "Dan," he said, slowly, "them ain't the words of a pal—not of a faithful pal, they ain't. It's a damn lie!"
"Lie yourself!" retorted Dan, thrusting him away. "Let go my arm, go on!"
"I knew he was coming," Blind George went on, "an' I follered up, an' waited behind them houses other side the Cop. I want my whack, I do. I heared him coming away, an' I called to him, but he scuttled off. I know his step as well as what another man 'ud know his face. I'm a poor blind bloke, but I ain't a fool. What's your game, telling me a lie like that?"
He was standing off from the door now, angry and nervously alert. Dan growled, and then said: "You clear out of it. You come to me first from Viney, didn't you? Very well, you're his pal in this. Go and talk to him about it."