“It does,” said Carpenter coolly.
Morton studied his companion in a speculative manner. He watched Carpenter blow languid puffs of smoke. He waited to hear the news.
“Ten thousand dollars,” remarked Carpenter. “That’s a tidy sum, Gifford. You have been fortunate. However, I go in for larger amounts — away from the roulette table. My game, tonight, is one hundred thousand.”
“One hundred thousand dollars? Where do you expect to get it?”
“From you.”
The friendly look disappeared from Gifford Morton’s countenance. Anger reflected itself. Carpenter saw the change, and smiled in a manner that indicated self-assurance.
“From me, eh?” Morton’s tone was challenging. “You want one hundred thousand dollars? How are you going to get it?”
“You are going to give it to me,” responded Carpenter. “Willingly and with very little fuss. I like people to pay nicely. That applies to you, tonight.”
Gifford Morton was on his feet, fuming. He pointed toward the door, and launched a deluge of furious words at his guest.
“Get out of here, you rat!” he cried. “I don’t know what your game is, and I don’t want to know. Get out!”