Part 7 (1/2)
”And they're in the room now?”
”Yes.”
”You're in luck, Bob. I'd like a chum as would slope and leave me a good suit.”
”Well, I wouldn't. No more would you, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, slightly indignant.
”I didn't mean nothin',” said Tom, apologizing for the offense which he saw he had given. ”Of course, I wouldn't want n.o.body to slope and leave his truck with me.”
”That's all right then, Tom,” said Bob, forgivingly. ”But now, what do you s'pose has become of him?”
”Well, it looks like he didn't go of his own free will, when he left everything behind him.”
”Of course it does, and I know he didn't.”
Bob related the story of Herbert's experience at the bank, on the morning when he secured the position.
”I don't like that duffer--what d'ye call him?”
”Felix Mortimer,” repeated Bob. ”I'm sure that's the name Herbert give me.”
”Well, I'll bet that he's put up the job.”
”I think so myself. You see he knew Randolph wasn't no city chap.”
”That's so, and he knew he'd have the drop on him. But I don't just see, after all, how he could get away with him.”
”Well, he might have run him into some den or other.”
”And drugged him?”
”Well, perhaps so. There are piles of ways them fellers have of doin'
such jobs.”
”I know they're kinder slick about it sometimes. But, say, Bob,”
continued Tom, earnestly, ”what do you propose to do about it? He may be a prisoner.”
”So he may, and probably is, if he is alive.”
”Why, Bob, they wouldn't kill him, would they?”
”No, I don't suppose so, not if they didn't have to.”
”Why would they have to do that?” asked Tom, with his eyes bulging out with excitement.
”Well, sometimes folks has to do so--them hard tickets will do 'most anything. You see, if they start in to make way with a feller, and they are 'fraid he'll blow on 'em, and they can't make no other arrangement, why then they just fix him so he won't never blow on n.o.body.”
”Bob, it's awful, ain't it?” said Tom, with a shudder.