“I was kinda in on it, too,” grinned Spotter. This was leading up to the subject which he wished to handle tactfully. “Say, Tiger, I’m kinda short on dough. Gave five hundred to an old pal of mine, Steve Cronin. I’d like to borrow that much money, if I could get it.”
Tiger Bronson said nothing. He went to a safe; opened it, and took out a package of bills. They were bound with a large red rubber band. The gang master took off the fastening and counted out fifty ten-dollar bills.
Spotter seized the money greedily. Then he stared quickly toward the window. He had an apprehension that some other eyes were watching him.
* * *
Had he been looking at Tiger Bronson, Spotter might have been impressed by the large red rubber band which the big man was replacing on the remaining bills.
It was a very conspicuous rubber band. Spotter had seen one exactly like it — so like it that it might have been the same band — the night before, at Doc Birch’s pawnshop.
But the sudden qualm of fear made the usually observant gangster overlook the matter of the red elastic. He was sure that eyes were watching him from the window. Such eyes would have seen the rubber band, too.
Spotter’s terror passed. He could see nothing in the blackness beyond the half-drawn shade. He steadied himself, so that he would not reveal his nervousness to Tiger Bronson.
“You see,” explained Spotter, “this fellow Cronin blew out of town after I gave him the dough.”
“Why?”