“You already have it,” Harleston replied wearily.
“Then, sir, we’ll take your word and withdraw.”
“Thank you,” said Harleston.
“He has it somewhere!” Crenshaw declared, fingering his revolver.
“My dear fellow,” Marston returned, “we are willing to accept Mr. Harleston’s averment.”
“He knows where it is—he took it—let him tell where it is hidden.”
“What good will that subserve? We can’t get it tonight, and tomorrow will be too late.”
“And all because of you two meddlers.”
“Three meddlers, Crenshaw!” Marston laughed. “You must not forget your sweet self. We’ve bungled the affair, I admit. We can’t improve it now by murdering each other—”
“We can make it very uncomfortable for the fourth meddler,” Crenshaw threatened, eyeing the figure on the bed.