Penoch just looked at him. Kennedy stared back with a mirthless smile.
“Risk a few nickels!” he gibed. “I ain’t seen your game for years. How about it? Shirley’ll be glad to see you both, she said. She ain’t had much time—”
“Yes, I’ll go.”
Simple, those words. But I knew as surely as I knew that I was at the table that Penoch’s deliberate interruption was a threat. He stared straight at Kennedy, and the implication in his statement was plain for me to see. That poker game that night was to include some unscheduled fireworks. Shirley and her father were to hear some hitherto unknown episodes in the lives of Ralph Kennedy and Percival Enoch O’Reilly.
“Fine! A good time’ll be had by all,” Kennedy came back. “You act as though you’d been invited to risk your life, or attend your own funeral. Heh-heh-heh! Didja hear him say that, boys? Peewee don’t think any more of a nickel lost at cards than he does his left eye.”
There he sat, gibing at the man who had saved his life. It was apparent to any one that there was a deadly undercurrent in the conversation between the two. I saw Kennard and Tex and the others looking at them speculatively.
Directly after the meal I put it up to Penoch.
“You’re going to lay your information on the line tonight, eh?” I asked him.
“Right. And my resignation’ll be written. He doesn’t intend to back away from Shirley. I can see that. Maybe what I say won’t change a thing; but she’ll go into it with her eyes open.”
“Damn’ funny, at that,” I said in considerable bewilderment. “I don’t see why a girl—any girl—could mean so much to Kennedy that he’s willing to run the risk of exposure as a criminal. I—”