Stull whispered:
“Aw, f’r God’s sake, Eddie, that ain’t the game. Do you want to double-cross Quint?”
“I have double-crossed him.”
“What! Do you mean to sell him out?”
“I have sold him out.”
“Jesus! Who to?”
“To the British Secret Service. And there’s to be one hundred thousand dollars in it, Doc, for you and me to divide. And fifty thousand more when we put the French bulls on to Minna and Breslau. Now, how does one hundred and fifty thousand dollars against five thousand apiece strike you two poor, cheap guys?”
But the magnitude of Brandes’ treachery and the splendour of the deal left the two gamblers stunned.
Only by their expressions could Neeland judge that they were discussing matters of vital importance to themselves and probably to him. He listened; he could not hear what they were whispering. And only at intervals he dared glance over his book in their direction.
“Well,” said Brandes under his breath, “go on. Spit it out. What’s the squeal?”