“Oh, I say!” she quickly added, drawing nearer, with voice lowered. “You’d best look out for a bolt from the blue. One of your players is in hot water.”
Flood’s cold, steel-gray eyes took on a look of interest.
“What player, Belle?” he slowly demanded.
“Confidentially, mind you, dear fellow!”
“Surely.”
“I refer to Cecil Kendall,” whispered the girl.
“What of him?”
“Gone lame. Short in his accounts.”
“What?”
Flood’s teeth had met with a snap, and his eyes were beginning to blaze.