“That’s a damned injustice, Cleeburg. Wish you hadn’t said it. But it won’t change matters any. I’m quitting.”
“Look here, sorry if I was hasty. You hit me hard—that’s all! Sit down. Let’s talk it over—cards on the table. What’s the big idea?”
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t. Somebody’s after you. Somebody’s going long on the golden promise stuff. I ain’t a fool. That’s plain as the nose on your face. Now who is it? Kane? Coghlan? Surprised they didn’t try to get you long ago.”
“They did. I turned them down.”
Beads of perspiration had gathered on Cleeburg’s head. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped mechanically.
“Anything wrong downstairs?”
“N-no.”
The manager looked up sharply. “If there’s trouble, just spill it and I’ll settle things to your satisfaction.”
“Nothing wrong, old man.”