Brant considered it for a moment, and the man at bay began to have a dim premonition that he had gone too far; that his life hung in the balance while he waited. The terror of it grew with the lagging seconds, and he had opened his mouth to withdraw the condition when Brant spoke again:
“You know very well that I don’t have to make terms with you, but you shall have the money. The papers I keep. Now go and get the boy, and don’t make any bad breaks. If you do, I shall shoot first and talk afterward.”
Harding drew breath of relief and re-entered the kennel with Brant at his heels. Inside the swing doors the latter gave another order.
“Go on and get your man; I’ll wait here while you are doing it.”
When Harding was about it Brant turned to the bartender. “Here is your gun, Tom; much obliged. And, while I think of it, I’ll turn over the Professor’s arsenal. You can give it back to him when he calls for it.”
A murderous-looking knife, a life preserver, and a set of brass knuckles changed hands, and Deverney swept them into a drawer with an exclamation of surprise.
“Holy Smut! And he let you catch him without his gun!” he said.
“Not much,” rejoined Brant pleasantly. “But I shall keep that for a little while. I am not through with him yet. And say, Tom, that reminds me: if that youngster ever comes back here, just pull that ‘No Minors Allowed’ sign on him and run him out. You won’t lose anything, because he will have no money to blow in.”
“I’ll do it—for you, George. But the Professor will run him in again.”
“I shall make it my business to see that he doesn’t,” Brant asserted; and just then Harding came up with young Langford.