“Now,” said Dexter, “you can do as you please, of course, but you know me pretty well and I advise you to sit quiet.”
“I am sitting quiet!” was the reply.
“I am sorry,” continued Dexter, with a quick glance at his maimed arm, “that I can’t tie you up, but I am expecting a friend any moment now.”
He suddenly raised the wicket with a twitch of his elbow and, without removing his gaze from the watchful detective, cried sharply—
“Carter!”
But there was no reply.
“Good; he’s gone!”
Dexter sat down facing Bristol.
“I have lost my hand in this game, Mr. Bristol,” he said genially, “and had some narrow squeaks of losing my head; but having gone so far and lost so much I’m going through, if I don’t meet a funeral! You see I’m up against two tough propositions.”
Bristol nodded sympathetically.