Claude leaned forward and fastened his gaze upon the face before him.
“Don’t you think silence is worth a thousand dollars?” queried his caller.
“Your silence?”
“Mine! That’s not a large sum with you who has his hands upon the purse strings of a millionaire. You don’t want the police to drag you forward as being connected with the mystery of Hell’s Kitchen? I don’t want to see one of my old patrons in such a fix.”
“Did you see me there?” asked Claude, a little nervously.
“I’ve got convincing proof.”
“But I haven’t got the money, Larkins. You will have to come again.”
“I won’t,” said Larkins, and the squeak seemed to get the snarl of a wild beast.
Claude looked at the table and then back at the man.
Larkins was twirling his hat on one of his hands, and his face was still immobile.