Like a trapped rat, he whirled at this ominous sound.
Colonel Grand, smiling suavely, stood between him and the door.
"Don't be alarmed, Ernie," said he in his oiliest tones. "Sit down, my
lad. We're quite alone and we won't be disturbed. I am master of the
hall, as they would say in England."
He motioned to a chair beyond the table, and, bowing politely, settled
himself in one nearer the door.
"What's the game?" demanded Ernie Cronk, his long, bony fingers
fumbling his flat derby hat. "Brown said you wanted to see me."
"Where's your brother Dick?" asked the Colonel irrelevantly, leaning
forward a trifle.
"Dick? Why, he's--he's--I don't know where he is. He's got a place of
his own somewheres. I don't see much of him these days. I can't afford
it, to be honest, Colonel."
"His reputation, eh? Well, I don't blame you. He didn't come over here
with you, did he?"
Ernie started. His gaze wavered ever so slightly, but the Colonel
noted the change.
"I haven't seen him in a week," said the hunchback steadily.
"You are lying, Ernie. He's across the street now, waiting for you."
"So help me God, Colonel--" began Ernie, but the Colonel checked the
denial without ceremony.
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