“What’s that?”
“I’ve got to speak more plain.”
“You will.”
“Den here goes—don’t youse blame me if eny one hears it an’ youse git into a trap. Las’ winter youse was paid to——”
“Wait, Mugsey.”
Brockey bent forward.
A strange expression was in his eyes.
“I’m waitin’, Brockey,” Carter said, and he returned the rascal’s searching gaze.
“Where were you last night?” Brockey asked.
Carter laughed.