Jim Coast laughed again.
"There's a quicker—a safer way than that. I'm takin' it." He filled his glass again and went on, leaning far over the table toward Peter. "Voyons, Pete. When we came ashore, I made you an offer to play my game. You turned me down. It's not too late to change your mind. The old man trusts you or he wouldn't of sent you out with that money. I may need some help with this business and you're fixed just right to lend me a hand. Throw in with me, do what I want, and I'll see that you're fixed for life."
Peter shook his head slowly from side to side.
"No, Jim. He pays me well. I'm no traitor."
"H-m. Traitor!" he sneered. "He wasn't overparticular about you. He might of killed you or I might of, if you hadn't been too damn quick for me. What do you think Mike McGuire cares about you?" he laughed bitterly.
"Nothing. But that makes no difference. I——"
A loud jangle of a bell from the corner and Jim Coast sprang to his feet.
"The telephone," explained Peter, indicating the instrument. "That's McGuire now." He rose and moved toward it, but Coast caught him by the arm.
"Worried, eh?" he said with a grin. "Wants to know what's happened! All right. Tell him—tell the——." And then, as Peter released himself, "Wait a minute. Tell him you've got me here," laughed Coast, "a prisoner. Tell him I'm talking. Ask for instructions. He'll tell you what to do with me, damn quick," he sneered.
Peter waited a moment, thinking, while the bell tinkled again, and then took down the receiver. He was in no mood to listen to McGuire.