“I don’t want to make any trouble, Eddy,” he explained, almost mildly. “But I’m going.”

“Nope!” said Eddy.

Ross took a step forward. Eddy reached in his hip pocket and pulled out a revolver.

“Nope!” he said again.

“What!” cried Ross, astounded. “Do you mean—”

“Tell you what I mean,” said Eddy. “I mean to say that I know who you are, and what you come for, and you’re going to sit pretty till tomorrow morning. That’s what I mean.”

He spoke quite without malice; indeed, his tone was good-humored. But he was in earnest, he and his gun; there was no doubt about it.

It was not Ross’s disposition to enter into futile arguments. He took off his overcoat, sat down, calmly took out a cigarette and lit it.

“I see!” he remarked. “But I’d like to know who I am, and what I came for. I’d like to hear your point of view.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t,” said Eddy. “Anyway, that can wait. Got to see about feeding you now.”

He locked the door behind him and dropped the key into his pocket. Then he opened another door leading out of the sitting room, disclosing a small kitchen.

“Last shover we had, he was a married man,” he explained. “Him and his wife fixed the place up like it is. I been living here myself, lately. Let’s see—I got pork and beans, cawfee, cake—good cake—cook over at the house made it. How does that strike you?”

“Good enough!” answered Ross, a little absently.

Eddy was moving about in the kitchen, whistling between his teeth; from time to time he addressed a cheerful remark to his captive, but got no answer. Presently he brought in a meal, of a sort, and set it out on a table.

“Here you are!” he announced.

Ross drew up his chair, and fell to, with a pretty sharp appetite.

“Look here!” he said, abruptly. “Who was that man—the one who—hired me?”

 Prev. P 20/90 next