“Be still,” cautioned Hammerswell, touching his companion’s wrist. “Don’t let any one hear you speaking of that.”
“I know what I’ll do,” said the Rockford sharp. “I’ll have that fresh young fellow put out of business to-night unless he sticks close to this hotel.”
“Put out of business?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I know a way. I’d like to thump him myself, but I don’t want to take part in it. I’ll find the boys to do it. Let’s have another drink.”
After drinking again Fernald bade Hammerswell “so-long,” promising to meet him within an hour at the same bar.
“That’ll give me time to get the dope,” whispered Hammerswell. “I think I’ll have it ready for you then.”
Having left the hotel, Fernald turned down the street that led toward a part of the place known as Peaceful Point. This name was a misnomer, for Peaceful Point was anything but peaceful. In fact, it was the most dangerous and degraded section of Rockford. The most disreputable characters of the place lived on the point, where there were a number of low saloons, kitchen barrooms, gambling rooms, and other resorts of bad repute. Although it was said to be dangerous for a well-dressed man to venture onto the Point after dark, Fernald proceeded thither unhesitatingly.
The street was crooked, the houses in need of repair and paint, and the neighborhood ill-smelling.