Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/205

Rh voice reminded me of a razor-blade wrapped in chamois. "Have you made a good haul?"

I sat there in silence, trying to size him up. I rather resented having ten-inch shells exploded that way in my face. I was equally shocked to find that he had merely been playing a part. He accepted me, after all, as nothing more than a gun-moll.

I must have stared into his impassive face for a full two minutes. Then, in a flash, I decided to give him a dose of his own medicine. Since he reveled in abruptness, I'd give him the once-over without any orchestra-trimmings. If he'd had all he wanted of fencing, he was quite welcome to naked steel.

I pushed my chair back a little from the table. I reached down and lifted the club-bag to my knees. Then I drew back the fastenings at each end of its top, tilted the bag so the light from the shaded electrolier would fall more directly upon what it held, and opened it.

It made a show, all right. That cave-garden of Aladdin's in which all the precious stones grew on trees would have looked like the Great American Desert beside it. My Hero-Man promptly stood up in his place, put