"There'll be real dough coming in all along," observed Deacon.
"Yes," agreed Judge, "but we've passed out so much of the queer that we'll be getting too much of it back. There isn't much of the genuine left in this neck of the woods."
"It will be a while before the queer gets spotted," said Deacon. "We did a real job, Judge.
You can't beat the engraving work. It looks like it came from the government bureau. All except the numbers. They're duplicates of good bills. Major knew his paper. That makes it perfect.
Butcher really did an exceedingly good job, too — on the printing—"
He paused reflectively, then added:
"I hated to see those plates drop overboard in the Caribbean. It was like a burial at sea. I put plenty in them, Judge — plenty—"
Judge nodded and smiled. He was about to speak when an interruption occurred — so sudden that neither he nor Deacon had an opportunity to move from the room.
Jake Critz, appointed leader of the vigilantes, came dashing into the smoking room. His eyes were wild as he stopped in front of Harvey Bronlon. Then, seeing the others there, he hesitated, panting.
"What happened, Critz?" growled Bronlon. "Never mind who's here. Tell me — quick!"