“And don’t tell me anything about it,” cautioned Butler. “I have a conscience, and I’d feel it my duty to protest.”
Riley produced a fresh cigar, twisted off the end with his teeth, and lighted a match. Puffing at the cigar, with the match flaring at the end of it, he made no effort to mask the faint, sneering smile upon his face.
“You’re all men with consciences, I know that,” he said. “I wouldn’t for the world do a thing to make any of ye lose sleep at night. Go home and rest easy. That’s all I have to say.” He rose to his feet.
“I’m very glad to hear you speak that way,” said Jorkins. “It lifts something of a load from my shoulders.”
“Mine, too,” said Butler. “I was worried, but I feel better now.”
CHAPTER XXI
A SECRET MEETING
At nine o’clock that night, Bob Hutchinson, smoking, stood on the steps of the Central Hotel, in Kingsbridge, and waited. Presently two men, one stout and heavy, the other slender and quickstepping, came round the nearest corner, and hurried toward the steps. “Well, here he is!” muttered Hutchinson, recognizing the heavy man as Riley.
“Hist!” breathed the Bancroft manager, as he puffed up the steps. “’Fraid you wouldn’t be here. Let’s not hang round. Take us up to y’ur room.”
“Come on,” said Hutchinson, leading the way.