“I'll bet I have. It's a rotten old town, this New York——”
He paused, and a queer light flashed from his steel eyes.
“Until you get your hand on its throat,” he added, bringing his square jaws together.
Mary lifted her face with keen interest.
“And you've got it by the throat?”
“That's just what—little girl!” he cried, with a ring of pride. “You see, I'm an inventor and I won a little pile on my first trick. I've got a machine-shop in a room eight-by-ten over on the East Side.”
“A machine-shop all your own?”
“Yep.”
“I'd like to see it some day.”
He shook his head emphatically.