"I don't like the look of things, I tell ye, Harry. Ye're in no fit shape to help 'til the fog clears up, but I've a mind that somebody's slipped a finger into the pie. Nora Burke wants more money—five hundred pounds to tell a straight story and where I'm going to get it—the devil himself only knows."
"Nora Burke—five hundred pounds!" muttered Horton vaguely, for he was thinking deeply, "that's a lot of money."
"Ye're right—when ye haven't got it. And de Vautrin's shutting down at the same time. It looks suspicious, I tell ye."
He broke off and fixed his iridescent gaze on Horton. "Ye're sure ye said nothing to any one in Paris before ye went to the front?"
Of this at least Jim Horton was sure.
"Nothing," he replied.
"Not to Piquette Morin?"
Here was dangerous ground again.
"Nothing," he repeated slowly, "nothing."
"And ye wouldn't be remembering it if ye had," said Quinlevin peevishly as he rose. "Oh, well—I'll have to raise this money some way or go to Galway to put the gag on Nora Burke until we play the trick——"