But Krafft interposed.
"Hold on, my son, that isn't ethics at all! You mustn't ask questions like that, must he, Mex? Very bad form!" He turned to Keith with a crisp air of decision. "That's what was the matter with your trial; I just thought I'd show you. Go on, Mex, get out," he commanded that individual, good-humouredly. "I'm not particularly proud of you, but I suppose I've got to stand you. Only remember this: Mr. Keith is my friend. Swear him out of the high seats of heaven—if you can—because that's the nature of you; but let him walk safely. In other words, no strong-arm work; do you understand?"
The man mumbled and growled something.
"Nonsense, Mex," interrupted Krafft sharply. "Do as I say.
"It's a matter of a tidy sum," blurted out Mex at last.
Krafft laughed.
"You see, you were already marked for the slaughter," he told Keith; then to Mex:
"Well, you let him alone; he's my friend."
"All right, if you say so," growled the man.
"You're safe—as far as Mex and all his people are concerned," said Krafft to Keith. "Our word is always good, when given to a friend; isn't it, Mex?"