“Ask him to come and talk it over to-night,” said Goyle carelessly.
“Connor is a long time gone.”
Sands turned his unhealthy face to the company as he spoke.
Three hours had passed since Connor had left the gang in his search for Jimmy.
“He’ll be back soon,” said Goyle confidently. He looked over the assembly of men. “Any of you fellers who don’t want to be in this business can go.” Then he added significantly, “We’re going to settle with Jimmy.”
Nobody moved; no man shuddered at the dreadful suggestion his words conveyed.
“A million an’ three-quarters—it’s worth hanging for!” he said callously. He walked to a tall, narrow cupboard that ran up by the side of the fireplace and pulled open the door. There was room for a man to stand inside. The scrutiny of the interior gave him some satisfaction.
“This is where some one stood”—he looked meaningly at Bat Sands—“when he koshed Ike Steen—Ike with the police money in his pocket, and ready to sell every man jack of you.”
“Who’s in the next house?” a voice asked suddenly.