“Oh, by the way,” said Dicky suddenly, before a suitable reply had come to me; “how about the scads—spondulicks—you know? Yesterday was pay-day, but you didn't show up.”
I don't know whether my jaw dropped or not. My spirits certainly did.
“By Jove, Dicky!” I exclaimed, catching my breath. “It slipped my mind, clean. I haven't got at our—ahem—banker, either.”
I saw now what that mysterious money was for—or a part of it, at all events. What I did not see was how I was to get it, and how to pay it to my men.
“That's rough,” said Dicky sympathetically. “I'm dead broke.”
It would appear then that Dicky looked to me for pay, whether or not he felt bound to me in service.
“There's one thing I'd like explained before a settlement,” said I grimly, as I straightened out the carpet; “and that is the little performance for my benefit the other night.”
Dicky cocked his head on one side, and gave me an uneasy glance.
“Explanation?” he said in affected surprise.
“Yes,” said I sternly. “It looked like a plant. I was within one of getting a knife in me.”