Holmes started quickly, and for once he forgot to use his poker-face. But he recovered quickly and stared at Hashknife.
“I didn’t quite get that,” he said.
Hashknife looked at him keenly, his level gray eyes boring into the gambler’s face.
“Mebby I’m mistaken,” he said slowly. “There was a Holmes that bootlegged hooch to the Flatheads up in Montana a few years ago. He was a remittance man from Canada. Yeah, his name was Ed Holmes. I guess you’re not the man.”
“I know I’m not,” denied Holmes. “I never was up in Montana. I’m not sure I got your name.”
“Hartley. My friends call me Hashknife.”
“I see, you’re a stranger here. Going to stay long?”
“I dunno. I’ll buy a drink.”
“No; this is my treat,” said the gambler, motioning the bartender. They drank a “good luck” to the house, and Holmes excused himself.
“Glad to see you any time,” he told Hashknife. “Make this your headquarters.”