Quick as thought Craig's red face whitened.
"Damn you, O'Reilly," he challenged, "you're free with your tongue." He checked himself. "I don't wish to quarrel with you to-night, though," he conciliated.
"Nor I with you," returned the other impassively. "I was merely telling you the truth. Besides, it's none of my affair; and even if it were, I'm thinking you'll pay for it dear enough before you're through."
Craig straightened in his seat; but not as before in attitude supercilious.
"What the deuce do you mean, O'Reilly? You keep suggesting things, but that is all. Talk plain if you know anything."
"I don't know anything," impassively; "unless it is that I wouldn't be in your shoes if I got a dollar for every cent you've made out of this cursed business."
Bit by bit Craig's face whitened. If anything the air of conciliation augmented.
"You think circumstances weren't to blame?" he queried. "That, in other words, I've brought things about as they are deliberately?"
"I don't think anything. I know what you've done—and what you've got to answer for."
Instinctively, almost with a shudder, Craig glanced about him.