“Oh, James! He's another proposition.” Rawson's voice was sour with disgust. “He just naturally looked to see where his bread was buttered. He's as selfish as the devil for all that suave, cordial way of his. Right from the first his idea has been to make a big personal hit. And he figured out he could do it easier with Joe Powers back of him than against him. James K. is the smoothest fraud on the Pacific Coast. But Jeff—why, every hair of his head is straight. He's one out of a million, believe me.”
“You've said it,” Chunn agreed.
Rogers smiled across at them. “He's left a lot of good friends behind him anyhow. But it's strange he could drop off the earth without a soul knowing about it.”
“The men who murdered him know about it,” Rawson answered significantly.
Captain Chunn shook his head. “No, that boy will turn up yet.”
“But not in time to save us. We're licked. There's not one chance in a million for us. That's the discouraging feature of it, to be sold out after we had won our fight.”
Rawson agreed with Hardy. “Yes, we're licked. Even if Jeff were to show up, with all these stories against him, we wouldn't be able to stem the tide now.”
“Mister Raw-w-son—Mister Raw-w-son.” The singsong voice of a bellhop echoed through the rotunda.
Captain Chunn's walking stick flagged the lad and brought him sliding across the polished floor.
“Telegram for Mr. Rawson.”