“It says,” began Roper:
“Dear Nick: All set for a big one on Thursday the eighteenth. Make it look good. Number 16. Hits there about nine o’clock. Burn this up right away.
Very truly yours,
Wheat.”
Roper finished and looked up at Kales, who was staring intently at him.
“What’sa idea?” queried Roper seriously.
Kales watched Roper’s face closely for several seconds and then took the letter from him. He touched a lighted match to one corner of the letter and envelop and watched them burn to a flimsy cinder.
“You know somethin’ now,” said Kales meaningly, “and there ain’t no use tellin’ yuh to keep your mouth shut.”
“Aw, ——!” grunted Roper. “You make me tired. If the deal’s any good I want in on it.”
Kales and Dutch exchanged glances. Dutch was long of face, crooked of nose and with a pair of round eyes which seemed to film over, instead of blinking.
“Whatcha think, Dutch?” queried Kales.
“Aw’right,” nodded Dutch. “I don’t care.”