The Romany had not time to thrust back the cigars upon his host, and dazed by the strategy of the thing, by the superior force and mind of the man who a moment ago he would have killed, he took the box and turned towards the door, taking his hat dazedly from Jim.
At the door, however, catching sight of the sly grin on the mulatto servant’s face, his rage and understanding returned to him, and he faced the masterful Gorgio once again.
“By God, I’ll have none of it!” he exclaimed roughly and threw the box of cigars on the floor of the room. Ingolby was not perturbed. “Don’t forget there’s an east-bound train every day,” he said menacingly, and turned his back as the door closed.
In another minute Jim entered the room. “Get the clothes and the wig and things, Jim. I must be off,” he said.
“The toughs don’t get going till about this time over at Manitou,” responded Jim. Then he told his master about the clothes having been exposed in the room when the Romany arrived. “But I don’t think he seen them,” Jim added with approval of his own conduct. “I got ‘em out quick as lightning. I covered ‘em like a blanket.”
“All right, Jim; it doesn’t matter. That fellow’s got other things to think of than that.”
He was wrong, however. The Romany was waiting outside in the darkness not far away—watching and waiting.
CHAPTER X. FOR LUCK
Felix Marchand was in the highest spirits. His clean-shaven face was wrinkled with smiles and sneers. His black hair was flung in waves of triumph over his heavily-lined forehead; one hand was on his hip with brave satisfaction, the other with lighted cigarette was tossed upwards in exultation.