The other looked at him cunningly. "The one you swore shot you?"
Craig's fingers twitched. "Yes," he said, after a pause.
"No. I never saw him before that night."
"What did he pay you for that job?"
Paddy the Brick stared. "Good Lord! He wasn't one of us. He just happened in for a social call!" He leaned across the table. "Say," he whispered, "what did you want to hang him for?"
There was in the posture, the whisper, an inexpressible assumption of identity of interest which stung and galled the man who faced him. The blood welled into Craig's face, then very slowly ebbed.
"Would you know him again, if he had changed his appearance? If, for instance, he wore a beard?"
"Know him!" Paddy the Brick jerked his thumb toward the window. "Why, we was mates over there."
Craig looked at him steadily for a moment without speaking. Then he pointed to a chair.
"Sit down," he said.