Fyles hated the man’s contemplated treachery. However, his duty was plain.
“Well, I might buy hot air—if it’s right, and the price is right.”
The man turned with an alert look and peered into the police officer’s face.
“They’re both right,” he said sharply. Then his manner changed abruptly to one of hot intensity. “Here let’s quit talkin’ fool stuff. I can tell you what you’re needin’ to know. And I’ll tell you, if you’ll pass me over, and let me quit clear without a question. I need to get across the border—an’ I don’t want to see the inside of no penitentiary, nor come up before any court. I want to get right away quick. See? I can tell you just how a big cargo’s comin’ into Rocky Springs. I know, because I’m one of ’em bringing it in. See? And when I’ve told you I’ve still got to bring it in, or those who’re running it with me would guess things, and get busy after me, or—or change their plans. See? Give us your word of a free run for the border, an’ I’ll put you wise. A free run clear, on your honor, in the name of the Government.”
“Why are you doing this?” demanded Fyles sharply.
“That’s up to me.”
“Why are you doing this?” Fyles insisted. “I need to know before I make any deal.”
“Do you?”
Pete thought for some moments, and Fyles waited. At last the man looked up, and his evil face was full of the venom of his words.
“I want to give ’em away,” he cried with bitter hatred. “I want to see the boss pass on to the penitentiary. See? I want to see the boss rot there for five good, dandy years.”