“You know what I want.” This time there was no chuckle, and Bud could imagine the close-set, greedy eyes of the other, one of them slightly crossed, boring into him in the dark.
“Money, I suppose, you whining blood-sucker,” suggested Bud, his voice quiet, but holding a cold, unpleasant sort of ring that was new to Caldwell. 32
“‘The boy guessed right the very first time,’” quoted Smithy, unabashed.
“What became of that two thousand I gave you before I left Chicago?”
“I got little enough of that,” cried Caldwell. “You know how many people there were to be hushed up.”
“Many!” snapped Larkin. “You can’t come any of that on me. There were just three; yourself, your wife, and that red-headed fellow,—I forget his name.”
“Well, my wife doesn’t live with me any more,” whined Smithy, “but she makes me support her just the same, and threatens to squeal on you if I don’t produce regularly; she knows where the money comes from.”
Suddenly Larkin stepped close to the other and thrust something long and hard against his ribs.
“I’m going to do for you now, Smithy,” he said in a cold, even voice. Caldwell did not even move from his position.
“If you do,” was his reply, “the woman will give the whole thing to the newspapers. They have smelled a rat so long they would pay well for a tip. She has all the documents. So if you want to swing and ruin everybody concerned, just pull that trigger.” 33