A hush had come over the place. Interested faces were turned in their direction, and Rathburn sensed an ominous tremor of keen expectancy. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tightened a bit.
“This is a poor time for strangers to be hanging around,” said the dark man in a loud voice. “The Dixie Queen pay-roll has been taking wings too often.”
The implication and the murmur from the spectators was not lost upon Rathburn. His lips tightened into a fine, white line.
“Whoever you are, you’ve got more mouth than brains!” he said crisply in a voice which carried over the room.
The effect of his words was electric. There was a sharp intaking of breath from the spectators. The dark man’s face froze, and his eyes darted red. His right hand seemed to hang on the instant for the swoop to his gun. Rathburn appeared to be smiling queerly out of his eyes. Then came a sharp interruption.
“Just a minute, Carlisle!”
Rathburn recognized the voice of Mannix, and a moment later the deputy stepped between them.
“What’s the idea?” he asked coolly.
“This gentleman you just called Carlisle seems to have appointed himself a reception committee to welcome me into the enterprising town of High Point,” drawled Rathburn, with a laugh.
Mannix turned on Carlisle with a scowl, and Carlisle 113 shrugged impatiently, his eyes still glaring balefully at Rathburn.