“It's a nigger gone crazy about that case—he has probably been reading fake stories in the papers, too,” stated Captain Downs, grimly. “I must remind you again, Bradish, that you were talking to me in pretty lively style.”
“Oh, a man lets out a lot of guesswork when he is nervous about his own business.”
“Well, I might fix it so that you'd be a little less nervous, providing you'll show a more willing disposition when I ask you a few questions,” probed the skipper. But this insistence alarmed Bradish and his blinking eyes revealed his fears and suspicions.
“I don't know anything about the Montana case. I don't intend to do any talking about it.”
Captain Downs tapped harder on the table, scowled, and was silent.
“Anything else, sir?” inquired Bradish, after a pause.
“Guess not, if that's the way you feel about it!” snapped Captain Downs.
Bradish went back into the main saloon, and the eavesdropper ventured forth.
“I don't know just what the dickens to do about you, now that I know who you are,” confessed the master, looking Mayo up and down.
“There isn't anything to do except let me go back to my work, sir.”