“And if the gratitude of a man of my calling is worth anything,” added Flood, with a strange light sweeping over his hueless face, “if a gambler’s appreciation, a gamester’s thanks——Hush! Not a word! See who rang——”
A single note from the bell on the street door had sounded through the quiet house.
It caused Flood to start as if stung. His countenance changed like a flash. His features became hard as flint, and his eyes, in which were reflected the sad memories evoking his grateful words, took on a light like that cast from a blade of polished steel.
The humpback darted into the hall and peered down the stairs.
The attendant was just opening the street door.
Nick Carter, in the disguise of Joe Badger, stood on the steps.
“Hello, Peters!” he exclaimed familiarly, “is Moses Flood about?”
The goggle eyes of the humpback swept round to meet those of the gamester, standing as rigid as stone in the adjoining room.
“It’s only Joe Badger, sir,” he whispered hoarsely.
Again that fleeting expression of relief swept over Flood’s white face.