“For God’s sake, policeman,” he mumbled out of his twisted mouth, “give us a chanct—just this once.”
The Sergeant pondered awhile. It was the easiest way out for himself, and for the woman, he reflected. Churchill was away and nobody would know anything about this business. He tipped the contents of the bag out. A bunch of keys, a woman’s handkerchief, some smelling-salts, a ticket to Vancouver, and various small odds and ends.
“Where’s that money?” he snapped out. “Here—let’s go through you!”
His search revealed a dollar’s worth of silver.
“Dig up the rest of that twenty-five dollars!” he demanded.
Slowly the other took off one of his boots, and from it produced two ten-dollar bills.
“We had some dough of our own when we come on the train,” he volunteered to Ellis’s silent look of interrogation, “but we got inter a poker game with some fellers and lost out, so we broke into the five-spot fer some supper and booze.”
Benton considered a bit longer, then suddenly made up his mind and opened the door.
“Voertsek, du verdomde schelm!”[1] he said sharply, jerking his head towards the aperture.
The man stared at him stupidly for a moment. “I don’t savvy you,” he muttered.