Hartwell looked mild reproach. Morrison was going too fast. There was a pause. Morrison again spoke, this time sullenly and without raising his eyes.
"He's queered himself with the men. They'll do him if he stays. They ain't going to stand his sneaking round and treating them like dogs. They——"
"Mistaire Mo-reeson speak bad English, ver' bad." Pierre's words cut in like keen-edged steel. "On ze odder side ze door, it not mek so much mattaire."
Morrison left the room without a word further. There was a look of sullen satisfaction on his face. Hartwell smiled approvingly at Pierre.
"You've got your man cinched all right."
"Hall but ze tongue." Pierre shrugged his shoulders, with a slight wave of his hands.
"Well," Hartwell resumed, "I want to get at the bottom of this stage business. Fifty thousand doesn't matter so much to us; it's the thing back of it. What I want to know is whether it was an accident, or whether it was a hold-up."
"Feefty tousand dollaire!" Pierre spoke musingly. "She bin a lot of monnaie. A whole lot." Pierre hesitated, then looked up at Hartwell.
"Well?" Hartwell asked.
"How you know she bin feefty tousand dollaire hin ze safe?"