He moved over and made room for Mr. Hennage beside him. The gambler sat down and sighed.
“Hot, ain't it?” he remarked, rather inanely.
“Rather. By the way, Mr. Hennage, have you, by any chance, seen that young man for whom I was inquiring on the day I first had the pleasure of making your acquaintance? His name is McGraw—Robert McGraw. You will recollect that I left with you one of my cards, with the request that you give it to McGraw, should you meet him, and inform him that I desired to communicate with him.”
“Yes” replied Mr. Hennage calmly. “I met him one day in San Pasqual an' gave him your card.”
“You gave him my registered letter, also?”
So Carey had been talking with Miss Pickett again! Mr. Hennage nodded.
“Tell me, Mr. Hennage” purred Carey. “Why did the man, McGraw, send you to the post-office with an order for that registered letter?”
“Oh, he was in a little trouble at the time an' didn't care to show in public” lied Mr. Hennage glibly.
“I perceive. I believe you mentioned something about his reputation as a hard citizen when I first spoke to you about him.”
“Tougher'n a bob-cat” Mr. Hennage assured him, for no earthly reason except a desire to be perverse and not contradict his former statements.