He looked at the men who stood before him.
“You’re the engraver, eh?” he said to Vernon.
The man did not reply.
“Blair Windsor,” said the dark-faced man, “I’ve seen you before. You’re in the racket, too. I didn’t suspect that. You’re the blind. You make the place look respectable.”
He studied Isaac Coffran and Birdie Crull.
“You’re the bird behind it,” he said to the old man, “and this other fellow is your strong-arm man. A nice bunch.
“Been making counterfeit money, and unloading it, for a long time, haven’t you? Well since you’re in the business, you’ll know my name when you hear it. I’m Vic Marquette, of the secret service.”
An audible gasp came from Vernon’s lips. The old engraver knew that name and dreaded it. Vic Marquette heard the gasp.
“You were in the jug once,” said the Federal agent. “I’ll have you placed before I’m through. Making an easy living here, eh?
“Well, I’ve caught the four of you, and I’m going to tell you the lowdown before I march you out of here” — the secret-service man was handling his automatics as though his fingers itched to press the triggers.