“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he inquired, almost sharply. “You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me.”
“Don't youse kid yerself!” retorted Clarie Deane. “D'ye think we're fools? This ain't like it was yesterday—see! We GETS the paper this time—so there won't nothin' happen to us. You come across with it blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll put you to sleep fer keeps!”
The blood was running down Stangeist's face. He wiped it away from his eyes.
“It's not here,” he said innocently. “It's in my box in the safety-deposit vaults.”
“Aw,” blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, “youse can't work dat crawl on—”
“Cut it out, Ike!” snapped Clarie Dane. “I'm runnin' this! So it's in the vaults, eh?” He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
“Yes,” said Stangeist easily. “You see—I was looking for something like this.”
Clarie Deane's fist clenched.
“You lie!” he choked. “The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed the paper to yesterday afternoon, an' the vaults was closed then—an' you ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched. That's why we fixed it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on again, 'cause we knew you had it here.”
“I tell you, it's not here,” said Stangeist evenly.