“Black Jack Dargin.”
“Huh! How did he find out?”
“That door is pretty wide open, isn’t it? A good many of the hard-rock men blow their money in Dargin’s dives.”
“Are you sure he knows?”
“Yes, quite sure.”
“He’d sell the tip to Lushing?”
Plegg shook his head. “No, I don’t believe he’d sell it. But he might give it.”
“Spit it all out—don’t beat around the bush, Plegg! What’s the inside of the deal? You know more than you’re willing to tell, and that isn’t a safe play for you to make at me!”
Plegg ignored the implication and the threat and answered only the direct question.
“I don’t know the inside of the deal. But one man’s guess is as good as another’s. Lushing goes all the gaits in Powder Can; he did it while he was with us, and he does it now, when he’s here. I’ve thought, more than once, that he might have some sort of a stand-in with Dargin. As the matter stands now, Dargin can give us away any time he feels like it.”