“It’s him,” he whispered. “That means lights out, understand?”
The others nodded. Bagshawe extinguished the lights. He slowly opened the door, and a man walked in. Only his outlined form could be seen against the dim light of the outer passage. This quick flash ended as the man closed the door behind him. As Big Tom sidled back to his chair, the new visitor found a seat for himself.
A match flickered, but it did not show the fifth man’s face. His head was turned down as he lighted a cigar. Then all that denoted his presence was a small moving glow of fire that traveled up and down as the man intermittently raised and lowered his cigar.
“All here?” came the low question from the man with the cigar.
“All here,” answered Bagshawe.
There was a short silence, during which the fifth man seemed to be forming a plan of speech. In the darkened room there was a tenseness as though this newcomer was sizing up the men whom he could not see. The others waited for him to speak, a positive indication that he was the one most vitally concerned with this meeting.
“YOU know who I am” — the voice came in a harsh emphatic tone, as the obscured man made his first remark. “My name is Bryant. That’s enough. Never mind my first moniker; there’s lots of other guys have the same. They call me Wheels Bryant. That’s the name they give to big shots.”
Despite the fact the other four men constituted a group of self-confident individuals, there was no challenging response to the boastful claim which had been advanced. The other four unquestionably acknowledged “Wheels” Bryant as their leader.
“This is my lay,” resumed Wheels. “I’m working it my own way. I got everything fixed, and I’m giving all of you a cut-in. Whatever I say goes.
“Each of you is a specialist, and I am the one to pick the spots. I don’t want any complaining if one guy gets a lot to do and another has it soft. That’s all part of my game.