“Out,” said the Butcher. “The chief called 'em an hour ago. I don't know what's up. I guess you and I keep house here to-night; he said you were to stay. Mouser and Jack were to report to Kirschell, weren't they?”
“Yes, that's what they said.”
“Well, all right!” The Butcher shrugged his shoulders. “That's none of our hunt. I suppose you got it, didn't you—or you wouldn't be here?”
“Sure, I got it!” answered the Bantam. “What d'ye think?”
“Let's have a look,” said the Butcher eagerly. “The chief says we can cash in on it for fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand!” The Bantam growled, as he unbuttoned his coat, and, taking out the bag, laid it on the table. “I thought it was worth a hundred thousand!”
“So it is.” The Butcher was opening the bag. “But it's no cinch to turn it into money without a big split—savvy?”
The Butcher opened the lead box, took out the lead cylinder, and balanced it speculatively in the palm of his hand.
The Bantam regarded it distrustfully.
“It don't look like fifty cents to me!” he commented finally.