“You’ll find it’s true, all right,” declared Nick. “The poor devil’s winnings didn’t do him much good, Mose. I reckon robbery was the motive, for the satchel is missing which you loaned him to take away the stuff.”
“How do you know I loaned him the satchel for that purpose?” Flood now demanded, with a harsh ring creeping into his heavy voice.
“Oh, I merely guessed at that, Mose; and it looks likely enough. You heard young Royal’s threats, too. Mebbe he was the chap who did it.”
Flood sprang down with an oath.
“Not on your life, Badger!” he cried vehemently. “Royal’s threats were the ravings of a drunken boy. He cannot have done it. It isn’t in him to have done it. For your life, Badger, if you’re a friend of mine, don’t ever hint again that Harry Royal committed this crime.”
A curious gleam showed for an instant in Nick’s keen eyes, but he gave no expression to the thoughts that occasioned it.
“You’ve got no better friend than I am, Mose, you can gamble on that,” he declared significantly.
“Possibly not.”
“It’s only because I wish to do you a good turn that I am here.”
“Do me a good turn!” echoed Flood, with eyes now glowing suspiciously. “What do you mean by that, Joe Badger?”