"What will he get?" asked the stout man nervously.
The man looked at him curiously.
"You are getting jumpy, friend Grayson," he said coolly.
"I am getting sick of this life," said Grayson. "We're making money by the million, but what is the use of it? We are dogs that dare not show our noses abroad; we're exiled and damned, and there is no future."
"You might as well be here as in prison," philosophised his friend. "And in prison you most certainly would be, if not worse——"
"We had no hand in the murders," interrupted Grayson pleadingly. "Now did we, Baggin?"
"I know little about the English law," drawled George T. Baggin, sometime treasurer of the London, Manhattan, and Jersey Securities Syndicate. "But such knowledge as I have enables me to say with certainty that we should be hanged—sure."
The fat man collapsed, mopping his brow.
"Ramundo killed one and Poltavo the other," he mumbled. "What about Poltavo?"
"He was standing by when T. B. was shot; but, as soon as he saw the policeman was down and out, he skipped. He arrives to-night."