Mahon smiled—the halfbreed's code was so simple.
"Tell it to the Inspector like that," he pleaded.
"Sure I will! An' I know dang well he'll see."
Inspector Barker lifted frowning eyes to the opening door. Stiff, waiting for permission to enter, Sergeant Mahon stood looking at him from the hall. A brown hand reached forward from behind and pushed him aside. And there was the grinning face of the half-breed.
The Inspector cleared his throat huskily. The proper thing, he knew, was to look severe, but the lines wouldn't form in the right places. Hungrily the halfbreed's eyes roamed to the tobacco pouch spilled on the blotter; the old corncob pipe was fumbling expectantly in his big fist.
"Same baccy, Inspector?" he enquired innocently, stepping through the door.
The lines in the Inspector's face were getting out of hand entirely.
In another moment—
He swung fiercely on the Sergeant.
"Get out!" he snapped; and slammed the door in his face.