He did not know Mr. Sandborn, whom he now met as Gallagher, but the G-man knew him well. Hegarty was one of those smooth confidence men with such a legal knowledge and society background that even his coarser moments of bloodshed were not provable in court. He had not acquired his nickname for nothing, for unlike most of the confidence gentry, Hegarty did not hesitate to use a machine gun upon his competitors when necessity required it. Loads of money spent on skilled and crooked lawyers and great care not to leave fingerprints near his crimes had kept the slippery Mr. Hegarty comparatively safe from the hands of justice; but Mr. Sandborn had an idea that justice would win the day before long. The F. B. I. would be interested in Mr. Hegarty’s entrance into the field of intimidation and the “service racket.”
“Charmed to know you, Mr. Gallagher,” Hegarty said, gravely shaking hands.
He had a slimy manner about him not to be removed by his warm brown eyes and his well-shaven face. Dissipation had left lines about his eyes and a certain paleness about his jaws and his thin lips curled back from large teeth. Society folk spoke of him as “unique.” Mr. Sandborn thought a snake might be “unique” also, on occasion.
“And now to business, Nevens, old boy,” said Hegarty, turning to Cowboy.
“You know what my proposition is, Hegarty,” Cowboy said. “You come in with me on the society end of this game and I’ll protect you for thirty per cent of the proceeds.”
Hegarty frowned.
“Be reasonable, my dear Nevens.”
“Thirty per cent, Hegarty. I’m taking the risks for you. Surely, my good fellow, you wouldn’t leave me empty handed!”
“It’s too much, Nevens, old thing. I’ve a notion to disregard you entirely.”
“You forget how unhealthy that might be!” Cowboy sighed, quietly.