“Where’ll you be?” Red Vallon was apparently relieved, for his voice had recovered its buoyancy.
“At my place—some time,” said Billy Kane curtly. “You can wait for me there.” He smiled suddenly with grim facetiousness. “My shoulder’s a lot better—enough so that maybe I can sit in for a hand myself to-night.”
“I hope you do,” said Red Vallon fervently. “You always had the knock-out punch, Bundy, and it’ll seem like old times.” He half rose from his chair; then, looking furtively about him, bent forward over the table. “There’s something else, Bundy, before I go—that snitch last night at Jerry’s, the man in the mask. He’s played hell with the crowd. There’s no telling what’ll tumble down behind Karlin. And it don’t look like he’s just stumbled on that deal by accident. It don’t look good, Bundy. We got to get him, and get him quick, before he pulls anything more. The word’s out to bump him off.”
Billy Kane nodded.
“Well, don’t lose your nerve over it, Red,” he said coolly. “If it was by accident, he won’t do us any more damage, and we’ve only got to settle with him for what he’s done, providing we can ever find him; if it wasn’t accident he’ll show his hand again—won’t he?”
“Yes,” said Red Vallon.
Billy Kane’s smile was unpleasant.
“Well, you’ll know what to do with him then, won’t you?” he inquired softly.
The gangster’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed to slits.
“Yes, I’ll know!” said Red Vallon coarsely. He made an ugly motion toward his throat. “Well, so long, Bundy!”