The gang politician's insolent eyes went up and down him. "I didn't come to see you."
"'S all right. Glad to see youse, anyhow," the counterfeit passer went on obsequiously. "Some day, when you've got time I'd like to talk wit' youse about gettin' some fall money."
"Nothin' doin', Shiny. I'm not backin' you," said Jerry coldly.
"You've got to go up the river."
"Youse promised—"
"Aw, what the hell's eatin' you?"
Shiny's low voice carried a plaintive whine. "If you'd speak to de judge—"
"Forget it." Durand brushed the plea away with a motion of his hand. "It's your cell pal I've come to take a look at—the one who's goin' to the chair."
With one lithe movement Clay swung down to the floor. He sauntered forward to the grating, his level gaze full on the ward boss.
"Shiny, this fellow's rotten," he said evenly and impersonally. "He's not only a crook, but he's a crooked crook. He'd throw down his own brother if it paid him."
Durand's cruel lips laughed. "Your pal's a little worried this mornin', Shiny. He ain't slept much. You see the bulls got him right. It's the death chair for him and no lifeboat in sight."