Part 56 (2/2)
”A murderer----!”
Kennedy nodded. ”We took that mine--stole it from the poor guy who had staked out his claim. Mike killed him----”
”You don't mean----?”
”Yes, sir. Killed him--stuck him in the ribs with a knife when he wasn't lookin'. What do you think of that?”
”McGuire--a murderer----!”
”Sure. Nice sort of a boss you've got! And he could swing for it if I didn't hold my tongue.”
”This is serious----”
”You bet it is--if he don't come across. Now I guess you know why he was so cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right.”
”Can you prove it?”
Kennedy rubbed his chin for a moment.
”I could but I don't want to. You see--Pete----” He paused again and blinked pensively at his gla.s.s. ”Well, you see--in a manner of speakin'--he's got it on me too.”
And Peter listened while his villainous companion related the well known tale of the terrible compact between the two men in which both of them had agreed in writing to share the guilt of the crime, carefully omitting to state the compulsion as used upon McGuire. Hawk Kennedy lied. If Peter had ever needed any further proof of the honesty of his employer he read it in the s.h.i.+fting eye and uncertain verbiage of his guest, whose tongue now wagged loosely while he talked of the two papers, one of which was in McGuire's possession, the other in his own.
Hawk was no pleasant companion for an evening's entertainment. From the interesting adventurer of the _Bermudian_, Jim Coast had been slowly changing under Peter's eyes into a personality more formidable and sinister. And the drink seemed to be bringing into importance potentialities for evil at which Peter had only guessed. That he meant to fight to the last ditch for the money was clear, and if the worst came would even confess, dragging McGuire down among the ruins of both their lives. In his drunken condition it would have been ridiculously easy for Peter to have overpowered him, but he was not sure to what end that would lead.
”You say there were two papers,” said Peter. ”Where are they?”
”McGuire's got his--here at Black Rock,” muttered Hawk.
”How do you know that?” asked Peter with interest.
”Where would he keep it?” sneered Hawk. ”In his business papers for 'zecutors to look over?”
”And where's yours?” asked Peter.
He hoped for some motion of Kennedy's fingers to betray its whereabouts, but the man only poured out another drink and leered at Peter unpleasantly.
”That'sh _my_ business,” he said with a sneer.
”Oh. Is it? I thought I was to have a hand in this.”
Kennedy grinned.
”Y'are. Your job is t' get other paper from McGuire's safe. And then we'll have fortune in--hic--nutsh.e.l.l.”
The man wasn't as drunk as he seemed. Peter shrugged.
”I see. I've got to turn burglar to join your little criminal society.
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