“He knows something,” he repeated, in a convinced tone. “Or he’s a damned good bluffer.”
“I passed him here at the door this afternoon,” the banker remarked. “I turned to look at him, guessing who he was, and he had stopped and was looking at me. Cool about it too. We’ll have to watch him.”
“Perhaps if we just tip him off to keep his mouth shut tight, that will be enough,” Burkhardt suggested. “If he knows the four of us are ready–––”
Vorse sniffed.
“You think he can be bluffed?” he said. “You haven’t seen him yet; go take a look. We’ll not throw any scare into him. If he were that kind, he wouldn’t have told us who he is. He wanted us to know he’s after us, that’s my opinion. He wants to shake our nerve––and he shook the Judge’s all right that day at my bar.”
“He did,” Gordon admitted. “The thing was so infernally unexpected. Almost like Joe Weir himself appearing. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, what with my heart being bad and what with seeing him.”
“Suppose he has proofs?” Vorse asked after a pause, while his narrowed eyes moved from one to another of his companions.
A considerable silence followed. The question jerked into full light the issue that had all the while been lurking in the recesses of their minds––an issue full of ghastly possibilities. Judge Gordon’s fingers trembled as he wiped with handkerchief the cold sweat on his brow.
“We’re all in it,” Vorse added.