“Yes, by two cowardly thugs.”
“Three, sir, was the number,” said Rohan. “But that don’t matter. You lost something, didn’t you?[{33}]”
“A small quantity of blood—nothing more.”
Rohan spread his arms on the table and lurched a little nearer.
“Tell that to the marines, sir,” said he, with a sinister nod. “You know what I mean, sir, and I know you know it. You’d better meet me halfway, too, Captain Dillon, or I might as well take myself out the way I came in. You’ve nothing to fear from me, sir, and I don’t fear you. I wasn’t one of the three, and I can prove it—but I came from them. If there is nothing doing, sir, I’ll go back and tell them so.”
Michael Rohan appeared about to do so, in fact, but Dillon checked him with a gesture.
“Stop a moment,” said he. “What do your rascally friends want?”
“Money,” said Rohan shortly.
“For what?”
“For what you lost that night.”