Crumb paled.
“What makes you think he’s a bad man?” he asked.
“Look at his face—look at his eyes,” she admonished. “Hard? He’s got a face like a brick-bat.”
They rose from the table and entered the living room as the Japanese opened the front door. The caller was Slick Allen. Crumb rushed forward and greeted him effusively.
“Hello, old man!” he cried. “I’m mighty glad to see you. Miss de Lure told me that you had phoned. Can’t tell you how delighted I am!”
Allen nodded to the girl, tossed his cap upon a bench near the door, and crossed to the center of the room.
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Allen?” she suggested.
“I ain’t got much time,” he said, lowering himself into a chair. “I come up here, Crumb, to get some money.” His cold, fishy eyes looked straight into Crumb’s. “I come to get all the money there is comin’ to me. It’s a trifle over ten thousand dollars, as I figure it.”
“Yes,” said Crumb; “that’s about it.”
“An’ I don’t want no stallin’ this time, either,” concluded Allen.