"I remember—Cassidy told me about this girl," said Jolly Roger. "He said—some day—he would trap this—this man—through the girl. So if I happen to meet Jolly Roger McKay, and send him back to the girl, it will help out the law. Is that it, Breault? And is there any reward tacked to it? Anything in it for me?"
Breault was looking at him in the pale light of the alcohol lamp, puffing out tobacco smoke, and with that odd twist of a smile about his thin lips.
"Listen to the storm," he said. "I think it's getting worse—Cummings!"
Suddenly he held out a hand to Peter, who sat near the lamp, his bright eyes fixed watchfully on the stranger.
"Nice dog you have, Cummings. Come here, Peter! Peter—Peter—"
Tight ringers seemed to grip at McKay's throat. He had not spoken Peter's name since the rescue of Breault.
"Peter—Peter—"
The Ferret was smiling affably. But Peter did not move. He made no response to the outstretched hand. His eyes were steady and challenging. In that moment McKay wanted to hug him up in his arms.
The Ferret laughed.
"He's a good dog, a very good dog, Cummings. I like a one-man dog, and I also like a one-dog man. That's what Jolly Roger McKay is, if you ever happen to meet him. Travels with one dog. An Airedale, with whiskers on him like a Mormon. And his name is Peter. Funny name for a dog, isn't it?"