Part 9 (2/2)
The two bodies shook, with their convulsive merriment. ”You can't do it!
old thing,” came George's smothered rejoinder, ”and you know darned well you can't--now! . . . Go on, you bloomin' Hodson!--proceed!”
Yorke gave vent to a good-natured oath. ”Hodson? . . . you do me proud, my buck! . . . Well now!--this 'three men in a boat' business! . . .
I'll admit I 'rocked' it with Crampton. I virtually abolished him because--oh! I couldn't stick the beggar at all. I simply couldn't make a pal of him. He was fairly good at police work, but a proper cad, in my opinion. Always sw.a.n.king about the palatial residence he'd left behind in the Old Country. He called it ''is 'ome' at that. Typical specimen of the middle-cla.s.s sn.o.b. Followed Taylor. Thick-headed, serious-minded sort of fool. Had great veneration for 'his juty.' No real knowledge of the Criminal Code, and minus common sense, yet begad! the silly beggar tried to be more regimental that the blooming Force is itself. I systematically put the wind up to him 'till he got cold feet and quit.”
Redmond recalled the fact that Taylor had been his predecessor.
”Followed!” he echoed mockingly, looking up at his handiwork.
Yorke, with a twisted smile glanced down at the bruised, but debonair young face. Benevolently he punched its owner in the back.
”Followed . . . a certain young fellow, yclept 'Nemesis',” he said, ”I sized you up for one of these smart Alecks--first crack out of the box, and egad! I think I'm about right.”
Said Redmond, ”How about our respected sergeant? we seem to have forgotten him.”
”Slavin?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the senior constable; and was silent awhile. There was no levity in him now. Slowly he resumed, ”I guess as much as it's humanly possible for two men to know each other--down to the bedrock, it's surely Burke Slavin and I. Should too, the years we've been together. The good old beggar! . . . We slang each other, and all that . . . but there's too much between us ever to resent anything for long.”
”I know,” said Redmond simply, ”he told me himself--last night.”
”Eh?” queried Yorke sharply. ”My G.o.d! . . . Tchkk!” he clucked, and burying his hands in his face he gave vent to a fretful oath. ”My G.o.d!”
he repeated miserably, ”I'd forgotten--last night! . . . I sure must have been 'lit' . . . to come that over old Burke. . . .”
”You sure were!” remarked Redmond brutally.
”Keats' 'St. Agnes' Eve'! . . . Oh, Lord!” . . . He drew in his breath with a sibilant hiss, ”There seems something--something devilish about--”
”I know! I know!” breathed Yorke tensely, ”what . . . you mean.” His haggard eyes implored Redmond's. ”No! no! never again . . . I swear it. . . .”
There came a long, painful silence. ”See here; look!” began Yorke suddenly. He stopped and surveyed George, a trifle anxiously.
”Mind! . . . I'm not trying to justify myself but--get me right about this now. Don't you ever start in making a mistake about Slavin--blarney and all. No, Sir! I tell you when old Burke runs _amok_ in those tantrums he's a holy fright. He'd kill a man. Might as well run up against a gorilla.”
A vision of the huge, sinister, crouching figure seemed to rise up in Redmond's mind--the great, clutching, _simian_ hands.
”In India,” continued Yorke, ”we'd say he'd got a touch of the 'Dulalli Tap.' The man doesn't know his own strength. I was taking an awful chance--getting his goat like that last night. It's a wonder he didn't kill me. He's man-handled me pretty badly at times. Oh, well! I guess it's been coming to me all right. Neither of us has ever dreamt of going squalling to the Orderly-room over our . . . differences. I don't think Burke's ever taken the trouble to 'peg' a man in his life. Not his way.
'I must take shteps!' says he, and 'I will take shteps!' and when he starts in softly rubbing those awful great grub-hooks he calls hands--together! . . . well! you want to look out.”
Lighting a cigarette he resumed reminiscently: ”They were a tough crowd to handle up in the Yukon. The devil himself 'd have been scared to b.u.t.t in to that 'Soapy Smith' gang; but, by gum! they were afraid of Slavin.
He doesn't drink much now, but he did then--mighty few that didn't--up there--and I tell you, even our own fellows got a bit leery of him when he used to start in 'trailing his coat.' They were glad when he 'came outside.' That's one of the reasons why he's shoved out on a prairie detachment. He wouldn't do at all for the Post. He never reports in there more than he has to--dead scared of the old man, who's about the only soul he is afraid of on earth. The O.C.'s awful sarcastic with him at times, and that gets Burke's goat properly. He sure does hate getting a choke-off from the old man.”
He grinned guiltily. ”That's why he prefers to wash the family linen strictly at home--what little there is. But, sarcasm and all, the O.C.
gives him credit for being onto his job--and it's coming to him, too.
He's quick acting and he's got the Criminal Code well-nigh by heart.
Regular blood-hound when he starts in working up a case.”
He yawned, and rising stiffly to his feet stretched his cramped limbs.
”We-ll! Reddy, my giddy young hopeful!--Now we've fallen on each other's ruddy necks and kissed and wept and had a heart-to-heart talk we'll--”
”Aw, quit making game, Yorkey! Is it a go? You know what I said?”
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