“I’m telling you, let them alone, don’t touch ’em.”
“Aw, what’s eatin’ you—”
“Listen, if any man jack of you touches those rings, I’m through, see, I quit right now—”
“Yeh, well, we aint grievin’ none.”
“What you got on your mind? What’s the matter with the rings?”
“You weren’t with the Big Boss as long as I was, see, and maybe you never heard his orders to steer clear of green rings, ’specially emerald ones. Lord amighty, his brother shot a guy one night fer taking them two rings.”
“Shot him!”
Through the Flying Buddies’ minds flashed the recollection of the night when the De Castro plane had been driven through a raging storm only to be brought down by members of the Big Boss’ gang, including young Gordon. That was the time when the four were bound on a ledge and a fellow who wore a tight green costume and close fitting mask, had appeared, called the men to task for what they had done, and later been frightened away from the spot by the ingenious Ynilea.
“Yes. He said his brother’s orders were not to touch the rings, and don’t I know once in Chicago a guy brought one in, said he’d picked it up in a hock shop, and the Big Boss kicked it through the window into the lake, that’s what he done.”
“Yeh. Well, what do you reckon’s the matter with them rings?”