“It’s me—Mellish. I want to speak with you a moment.”
“I don’t want to see you.”
“Bert wants to say something. It’s important. Let us in.”
“I won’t let you in. Go away and don’t make a fuss. It will do no good. You can get in ten minutes from now.”
“Look here, Pony, you open that door at once, or I’ll kick it in. You hear me? I want to see you a minute, and then you can do what you like,” said Bert, in a voice that meant business.
After a moment’s hesitation Rowell opened the door and the two stepped in. Half of the carpet had been taken up and the bare floor was covered with old newspapers. A revolver lay on the table, also writing materials and a half-finished letter. Pony was in his shirt sleeves and he did not seem pleased at the interruption.
“What do you want?” he asked shortly.
“Look here, Pony,” said Bert, “I have confessed to Mellish and I’ve come to confess to you. I want you to be easy with me and hush the thing up. I cheated. I stocked the cards.”
“You’re a liar,” said Rowell, looking him straight in the eye.
“Don’t say that again,” cried Ragstock, with his fingers twitching. “There’s mighty few men I would take that from.”