"At the club—the highest-priced stuff we have," answered Bulson. Then he placed the flask to his own lips and pretended to swallow a like portion to that taken by his companion, but touched scarcely a drop.
"It's vile—I sell better than that for ten cents," continued Pepper.
"Let us sit down and get to business," went on Bulson, leading the way into the unfinished building. "I want to make sure that you have everything I want. I am not going to pay five thousand dollars for a blind horse."
"I'm square," muttered Sam Pepper. "When I make a deal I carry it out to the letter."
"You have everything that proves the boy's identity?"
"Everything."
"Then sit down, and I'll count out the money."
"It's—rather—dark—in—here," mumbled Sam Pepper, as he began to stagger.
"Oh, no! it must be your eyesight."
"Hang—me—if I—can—see—at—all," went on Pepper, speaking in a lower and lower tone. "I—that is—Bulson, you—you have drugged me, you—you villain!" And then he pitched forward and lay in a heap where he had fallen.