But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the door of the anteroom.
He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had handed it to him.
“It was hard work to screw him up, Mullaney. You have seen how I worked him. This is all he gave me—two hundred and fifty. Take it and spring your trap.”
“You don't look honest,” grumbled the detective. “If I'm any kind of a guesser you're holding out on me.”
“That's your price. You agreed. There isn't any time to argue this. Give me back the money.” He grabbed the bills from Mullaney's clutch. It was magnificent bluff. “I'll hand it to my uncle. He isn't very keen on the thing, anyway.”
“I'll take it—give it back. I'll apologize,” pleaded Mullaney.
“Will you swear to keep all this under your hat—the whole thing? Uncle says if you dare to speak to him about it—hint to him or anybody that he paid money for anything on Farr—he'll deny the story and have your license taken away.”
“I promise—swear it,” Mullaney agreed.
Dodd returned the money, and the detective started out on the trot.
“You come, too, and I'll tell you on the way. Time is short. You'd better help me,” he advised Dodd. They hurried away together, rushed out into the alley and around to the front of the hall, the detective pouring certain information into Dodd's ear as they made their way to the big door and into the main corridor.