“Suffering crawfish!” hissed Ducky, after he had safely gone.
Dog said nothing at all for a full minute, and then:
“You remember that Swede at Dawson that took a million dollars out of the place we gave up as no good.”
“I remember,” said Ducky. “Probably nothing to this.”
“Probably not,” agreed Dog, but without conviction. “We’ll see what he brings home tomorrow night.”
Next night Percival stoked as usual, pushed back his plate, got up, fished into his right-hand trouser pocket and produced two nuggets about the size of the one he had displayed the night before.
Dog cleared his throat and spoke with elaborate casualty.
“Just where are you working now?”
“Up the creek. Around that second bend. Good night.”
Again they watched him climb the ladder. Ducky spoke first.