“I’m not wanting to bore into your business,” said Hank, “only I’m giving you this straight, I’ve no time for blind man’s buff. You were proposing to come along with us to hook the Dutchman?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Candon. “I don’t want you to lose wind or time over me, I’d have you know I’m dealing straight, but I’m mixed with a crowd that’s not straight, get me? Don’t you bother where the Heart dropped her mud-hook last, nor how much her business was mixed up with the Dutchman’s business. Don’t you bother about one single thing but the proposition I’m going to put before you, and it’s this. Ship me out of this port down south and I’ll put in your hand every last ounce of the boodle the Dutchman’s been collecting, for I know where it’s hid; on top of that I’ll make you a present of the man himself for I know where he’s to be found. That’s my part of the bargain. And now for yours. I ask nothing but five thousand dollars in my fist when the job’s done, and to be put ashore somewhere safe, so that those chaps on the Heart won’t be able to get at me.”
He had been holding the cigarette unlighted. He struck a match, lit it, took in a great volume of smoke and slowly expelled it.
“Well,” said he, “what’s your opinion on that?”
Hank was sitting almost like Rodin’s Thinker. Then he uncoiled a bit.
“Do those guys on the Heart know where the Dutchman’s to be found?” asked he.
“No, they don’t.”
“Do they know where the boodle is?”
“N’more than Adam.”