“Good evening!” echoed Barnes, with another glance over his shoulder.
Michael Phelan turned purple. He hadn’t indulged in the most exhausting sprint in six months to be made sport of.
“Which one of youse sent for me?” he rasped out.
The two young men pointed to each other, which only served to fan the flame of Phelan’s wrath.
“Is one of youse Mr. Gladwin?” he gurgled.
They repeated the pantomime until Gladwin caught the fire in Phelan’s eye and decided that it would be better to temporize.
“I am Mr. Gladwin,” he bowed.
Phelan measured him from the ground up as he filled his lungs for another outburst.
“Why did yez send for me?” he demanded savagely. “This here little Japanaze come runnin’ wild-eyed down me beat an’ says there’s two women been robbin’ the house. What’s all this monkey business?”
“Bateato is mistaken,” said Gladwin, forcing a laugh.