She paused in the doorway; caught his furtive eye, and with a slight beckoning movement of her head, moved back into the comparative darkness. Slowly—thick-headedly of course—he came out.
“Jim,” she said, “I'm wondering if you and Tex wouldn't like to pick up a little money.”
“What do you think we are?” he replied in a guarded sulky voice. “Tex dropped three thousand at that fight. There's no talking to him. He's rough—that's what he is.”
“Jim—” she considered the man before her deliberately; his lank spineless figure, his characterless, hatchet face: “Jim, send Tex to me.”
“Why should I, Dix? Answer me that.”
“Don't act up, Jim. I've never handed you anything that wasn't more than coming to you. I know all about you, Jim. Everything! I'm not talking—but I know. This is a big proposition I've got in mind, and you'll get your share, if you come in and stick with me? How about half a million in jewels?”
“I don't know's Tex would care to go in for anything like that. If it's a yegg job—”
“I'm not a yegg,” she replied crisply. “Ask Tex to slip around here. I don't want to talk on that side of the deck.”
“I suppose you wouldn't like young Kane to know what you are—er?”
“That sort of talk won't get you anywhere, Jim.”