"A little action wouldn't make me mad any!" Murk declared. "I'm spoilin' to mix with the enemy, Mr. Prale. Most of all, I'd like to meet up with them two thugs that got gay with us. You're sure about that Jim Farland, boss?"
"I've told you a hundred times, Murk, that Jim Farland is my friend and as square a man as you can find anywhere. He has not deserted us, if that is the thought in your head."
"I'm beginnin' to like him a bit myself," said Murk. "Ain't you got any idea, boss, who's engineerin' this deal against you?"
"Once more, Murk, old boy, allow me to state that I haven't the faintest idea who my enemies are, or why they are trying so hard to make life miserable for me. If I knew where to start to round them up, I wouldn't be standing in this room talking to you—I'd be out rounding them up!"
"Well, if you ask me, I think it's about time that Farland settled that murder case," Murk said. "If he don't get busy pretty quick, I'll tackle it myself. I've got an idea——"
The ringing of the telephone bell cut his sentence off. Sidney Prale was near the instrument, and he answered the call.
"Mr. Prale?" asked a man's voice.
"Talking."
"I just wanted to inform you that you needn't depend on Detective Jim Farland any more. We've got him—and we'll get anybody else you engage. And we'll get you, too, Mr. Prale, before very long. Don't think we'll not!"
The man at the other end of the wire hung up his receiver. Prale paced the floor and told Murk of the conversation.