CHAPTER IV
Watty and George were well satisfied with their night's work when they went out of the bar into the street. Michael was with them. He said nothing, but they took it for granted he was as pleased as they were at what had been done and the way in which it had been done. Michael was always chary of words, and all night they had noticed that what they called his "considering cap" had been well drawn over his brows. He stood smoking beside them and listening abstractedly to what they were saying.
"Well, that's fixed him," Watty remarked, glancing back into the room they had just left.
Jun was leaning over the bar talking to Newton, the light from the lamp above, on his red, handsome face, and cutting the bulk of his head and shoulders from the gloom of the room and the rest of the men about him. Peter Newton was serving drinks, and Jun laughing and joking boisterously as he handed them on to the men.
"He's a clever devil!" George exclaimed.
"Yes," Michael said.
"Shouldn't wonder if he didn't clear out by the coach to-morrow," George said.
"Nor me," Watty grunted.
"Well, he won't be taking Paul with him."
"Not to-morrow."