"And now about this foolish young nephew of mine," went on Mr. Larabee. "I didn't hear all he and his father talked about that night when I came down on 'em unexpected-like, but I'm sure my nephew has some crazy notion about helping this Wardell. It mustn't be allowed—he must be stopped!" and Uncle Ezra clenched his fist and struck a desk a smart blow.
"I agree with you, Mr. Larabee. He must be stopped. But does he know of this time limit?"
"He might. I wouldn't take any chances. He's fooled me more than once. Don't take any chances, Black."
"I won't. If he has any papers to file inside the time limit, he won't be allowed to do so. We'll take some means to stop him. Wait, I'll call one of my men who—er—who attends to all these little matters for me. Jake, here, I want you!"
From an outer room came a man with a hard face, and a jaw like that of a prize fighter. He had little, shifty eyes that seemed never to look one in the face.
"Jake this is Mr. Larabee," went on Mr. Black. "This is Jake Morton," to Uncle Ezra. "He'll see that your foolish nephew doesn't do anything rash."
"That's what I want."
"It—er—it may cost something, Mr. Larabee."
"Cost something?" and Uncle Ezra clapped his hand on his pocket. "Not much, I hope!"