“I can, eh?”
“That’s what.”
“And suppose you don’t get it?” questioned Janet, with lowering gaze at him. “What then?”
“You’ll get yours, instead.”
“You mean, I take it, that you’ll inform the police.”
“That’s just what I mean,” Chick nodded. “Unless some one comes across with the coin, it’s you for the caboose. I’ll have a bull after you inside of half a minute. I’ll tell all I know about the job and all I know about you. Your story wouldn’t stand washing in distilled water. The gink with the Vandyke whiskers did the job, and you know it. I’ll hand all this to the bulls, unless I get mine, and I’ll lose no time about it. That’s all. It’s up to you, now. What d’ye say?”
“I say that you may go to the devil, Kennedy, and do your worst,” snapped Janet, with eyes flashing. “I say——”
“Stop a moment! Stop a moment!” cried Murdock, stepping into the room. “I reckon it’s time for me to have my say—or this!”
Chick swung around in his chair and found himself gazing—into the black muzzle of a leveled revolver.