"Well, Jake?" demanded Boss Coggswell, as the young man burst into the room.
"The whole thing’s busted, boss!" gasped Hines, the sweat streaming down his face. "Sheridan’s acquitted! We made a bad break not puttin’ enough stamps on the[Pg 43] package, and they’ve got Bill Warren and the pawnbroker’s clerk on the rack now, tryin’ to make ’em squeal."
"Holy smoke!" gasped Coggswell, jumping up from his chair. "That sounds bad, Jake—very bad. Do you suppose those fellows will squeal?"
Hines nodded gloomily. "I’m afraid so, governor. That pawnbroker’s clerk is a white-livered rat; it won’t take long to break down his nerve; and Bill Warren ain’t much to be depended on when his own hide’s in danger. I’m afraid we’re in bad this time, boss—up against it for fair."
For five minutes Samuel J. Coggswell agitatedly paced the floor. Suddenly he halted and turned to Hines, a queer look on his face.
"Jake," he said, "you’re looking bad—very bad, indeed, my boy. You need a change of climate—a little trip for your health. Do you understand?"
"You mean you want me to beat it, governor?"
"Yes, at once! Better start right now to pack your suit case. If you need any money I’ll sign a check for any amount you want. The bank isn’t closed yet."
Hines nodded gloomily. "Yes, I guess you’re right. I’d better go. If those fellers squeal—and I’m pretty sure they will—New York’s no place for me just now. But how about yourself, boss? What are you goin’ to do?"
"Oh, I’ll stay, Jake—stay and face the music," replied Coggswell, a smile of resignation on his face. "As long as you’re safe, I don’t care much what happens to me."