“Just what sort of crook are you?” asked Durant, extending his cigarette-case. He gave no heed to the senseless detective—Durant had little pity for inefficiency. “Bank-robber, confidence-worker or thug?”
Larson grinned, as he flung his overcoat over the unfortunate Englishman and settled down in comfort.
“To tell you the truth, a little of anything,” he said frankly. His shrewd old features settled back into their usual kindly wrinkles. “I’ve touched all sides of the game—but while I’m with you, I’m straight. That goes! I shouldn’t have stopped off in England at all, but I thought it was safe enough—and I was tempted. Now, if you and I go together, say by air, we’ll get out of the country. That is, if you’ll help me so far! Otherwise, I’m done for. It’ll be almost impossible for me to get out of England now, unless—”
He made a gesture toward the shape beside him. Durant shook his head.
“None of that. I’ll get you out, all right. So you’ve made your pile in the States, eh? In what game?”
“All kinds,” said Larson, and laughed. Then he sobered. “Look here! We’ll have to make a quick get-away when we get to the station—Waterloo, is it? Or Paddington? Porters will come through to get luggage and see if anything’s left in the cars.”
“Don’t worry,” said Durant calmly. “My chauffeur should meet us there. And to you, I’ll be plain Ralph Durant, understand? What’s more, I’ll keep your secret. Is it agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Larson, and put out his hand. “I’ll be on the level with you.” Durant meant his words. He had no intention whatever of telling Makoff anything, and he shook hands gravely with the murderer and criminal opposite. As a matter of fact, he much preferred the man to Makoff.
Durant had hitherto seen Makoff as a man of culture, energy, ruthless ability; but in the ensuing hours he began to realize why this man could hold his cousin’s widow in bonds of blackmail and force her to give not only money, but service, to his cause.
He knew Makoff could have had less than twenty-four hours to prepare for his coup against Larson. He knew, too, that Makoff was scrupulously anxious to keep any breath of police suspicion from his activities; much of his work lay among the upper strata of society, and he could not afford publicity or suspicion. Therefore, even granted that he was in touch with some criminal organization in London, his achievement was marvelous.