“That letter—that insult!” he gasped.
“They told you they were starting straight for Europe, and they—”
“So that is what you were in the city for, eh? A blackleg—one of them! Your brazen cheek—your flashy clothes—”
“No, Judge Kingsley, I never tried to sell gold bricks. But it came my way to find out a lot about those fellows who do sell them.”
“Yes, you flashy cheat!” he snarled. “You are like that other one! Waistcoats like chromos! Tricked out with gewgaws—airs of a peacock!”
That last word sent a thrill through me, put an idea into my head.
“Was he a big man, Judge Kingsley? Was his name Pratt?”
“No.”
“But he brought the gold! He claimed to be the partner. He had a smear like grease across his cheek—a scar. He—”
“You seem to know your confederates very well, sir.”