"What's the game?" demanded Ernie Cronk, his long, bony fingers fumbling his flat derby hat. "Brown said you wanted to see me."
"Where's your brother Dick?" asked the Colonel irrelevantly, leaning forward a trifle.
"Dick? Why, he's—he's—I don't know where he is. He's got a place of his own somewheres. I don't see much of him these days. I can't afford it, to be honest, Colonel."
"His reputation, eh? Well, I don't blame you. He didn't come over here with you, did he?"
Ernie started. His gaze wavered ever so slightly, but the Colonel noted the change.
"I haven't seen him in a week," said the hunchback steadily.
"You are lying, Ernie. He's across the street now, waiting for you."
"So help me God, Colonel—" began Ernie, but the Colonel checked the denial without ceremony.
"I am just as sure that he came over here with you to-night as I am sure that you are sitting there. I thought you'd bring him. That's why I sent for you. I knew it was the easiest way to get him here. He wouldn't come if I sent for him, but he'd go anywhere on earth if you asked him to. We'll wait a quarter of an hour, Ernie, before we proceed to business. At the end of that period I'll open the door suddenly and we'll find Artful Dick Cronk standing in the hall. To make it all the more interesting I'll present you with ten dollars if he isn't there."
Ernie's ferret-like eyes blinked in sheer amazement. Down in his mean little heart there always had been a dark fear of this rather imposing man; in his mind there was a no uncertain estimate of the Colonel's almost supernatural power to read the thoughts of others.