"That's the grip with the money!" he whispered. "What's the reason we can't get hold of it?"
"We've got to get hold of it, somehow," returned Clancy. "Suppose you go aft and yell for Hogan? It's possible, Katz, that your call will take both Hogan and Wynn out of the cabin. That may give me a chance to duck down the companion and grab the satchel."
"It's worth tryin'," approved Katz. "Even if it don't win out, we can still end the thing in a fight. You got a shootin' iron?"
"No."
"Neither have I. Blamed if I don't feel kinder lost without one. I'll bet Hogan is heeled, and I know Wynn never goes without his artillery. We'll have to look sharp and be spry, Clancy, if things come to a show-down."
While Clancy watched the two in the cabin, he saw Wynn draw the satchel across the table, open it, and pull a packet of greenbacks from inside. He held up the packet, and laughed. Hogan joined in the laugh.
The motor wizard had a very good look at Captain Hogan, and he did not wonder that Hiram had been deceived into thinking the fellow was his father. The bulging brow, the huge nose, and the retreating chin all conspired to form a countenance that would have claimed attention anywhere. One eye had an evil squint, and it gave to the whole face a crafty expression.
Captain Hogan, it was clear, would never be hung for his good looks, although it would be too much to say that he might not, some time, be strung up for his evil deeds.
Wynn dropped the money into the satchel and sat back arm the bench. As usual, he was whiffing at a cigarette. Hogan was smoking a big black cigar.
Neither Clancy nor Katz was so situated that he could hear the conversation going forward between the two in the cabin. The voices sounded from below in considerable volume, but the words ran together in hollow echoes that baffled the ear.