"Here's how!" replied Blake, with a geniality of tone and manner that diverted the other's attention from the glint in his eyes. He took the glass and deliberately twisted his hand backward so that the whiskey poured out on the bare floor in front of the desk.
"Look out! You're spilling it!" exclaimed Ashton.
"No, just pouring it," explained Blake. "German custom. Next time you're in a beer-garden do it, and they'll let you know what it means."
"Means?" echoed Ashton.
"In this case, it means I never drink when I'm on a job. One of my rules. Told you I had accepted that standing offer, didn't I?"
"Yes. But I didn't know that you—"
"Well, you know now. I'm on this job."
Ashton shot a covert glance at his square-jawed opponent.
"Then it's a mistake—the report that you refused to accept any position from Mr. Leslie," he murmured.
"Mistake? No," curtly answered Blake. "Needn't try to fool me. Mr.
Leslie turned the bridge over to the Coville Company months ago."