Jacob nodded.
“You fellows have brought this off all right,” he reflected. “I suppose you knew I shouldn’t give any trouble.”
“We kind of reckoned you’d be sensible,” Hartwell admitted.
“Supposing I’d dodged that drug and shown fight?” Jacob went on. “Were you armed, you fellows?”
Hartwell smiled contemptuously.
“Not for a little job like this,” he replied. “When I use shooting-irons, things happen. Do you get me, Pratt?”
Jacob nodded.
“You seem to have held me very lightly,” he grumbled. “I expect Mason has an automatic in his hip pocket.”
“I have never carried firearms in my life,” Mason declared, with a shiver. “I prefer finesse.”
Then Jacob began to laugh. He rose from his chair and walked up and down the room with his hands in his trousers pockets, shaking with mirth. The two men watched him at first in surprise, afterwards with growing uneasiness.