“Money.”
“Money!”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To keep my tongue from wagging.”
“I——”
“You understand me, Mr. Rich. The man whom you tracked from the Grand Central on the day before New Year’s was the man who was murdered at the Red Dragon Inn.”
Carter had raised himself up again so that he was peering through the transom when the cabman uttered these words.
Rich did not start. He displayed not the least sign of fear. He glanced at the man with a sinister expression upon his darkly handsome face.
“I am aware of that,” he replied, in cold, harsh tones.