“All right,” said the boy, without taking his eyes from the spinning roulette ball. “I’ll wait here for you.”
Brant marched his man to the swing doors and out into the deserted street. Just beyond the circle illuminated by the arc light in front of Draco’s he backed Harding to the wall.
“Hands up!” he said briefly.
Harding’s thin lip quivered like that of a snarling dog, but again he obeyed.
“Turned hold-up, have you, George?” he sneered.
Brant ignored the taunt and deftly disarmed his captive. Then he spoke tersely and to the point, as one who may enforce his commands.
“You know me, and there is no need to measure words. I brought you out here to tell you what you are to do. You are going to take that boy home and turn him loose; and then you are going to keep out of his way.”
“Oh, I am, am I?”
“Yes; and this is the way you are going to do it: You will go back in there and bring him out; then you will walk him up the street and put him into the first carriage you come to. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Sure thing! You’ve got it all down to a fine point, haven’t you?”