"I'm a broker. Wall Street's my habitat. Fine time to buy stocks, Misser O'Neil." Bulker assumed an expression of great wisdom. "Like to have a tip? No? Good! You're a wise man. They fired me from the North Pass. Wha'd you know about that? Fired me for drinking! Greatest injustice I ever heard of, but I hit running, like a turkey. That wasn't the reason they let me go, though. Not on your life!" He winked portentously, and strangely enough his eyelid failed to resume its normal position. It continued to droop, giving the appearance of a waggish leer. "I knew too mush! Isn't healthy to know too mush, is it?"
"I've never had a chance to find out," smiled Murray.
"Oh, don't be an ingenue; you savvied more than anybody on the job. I'll admit I took a nip now and then, but I never got pickled. Say! Who d'you s'pose I saw to-day? Old man Illis!"
O'Neil became suddenly intent. He had been trying to get in touch with Poultney Illis for more than a fortnight, but his cables to London had brought no response.
"When did he arrive?"
"Just lately. He's a game old rooster, ain't he? Gee, he's sore!"
"Sore about what?"
Bulker winked again, with the same lack of muscular control.
"About that North Pass deal, of course. He was blackmailed out of a cold million. The agreement's about up now, and I figure he's over here to renew it."
"You're talking Greek," said O'Neil; but his eagerness was manifest.