Jounce locked the door, an unnecessary precaution, the detective thought,
and threw himself into one of the chairs.
"Sit down, pardner. We kin confab here without bein' disturbed, you bet
yer buttons."
"I should think so," was the dry response.
"Help yerself to refreshments."
Jounce tapped the bottle with a dirty finger.
Keene, however, was wise enough not to indulge. He saw before him but one
man, and if treachery was meditated, he believed himself a match for this
one easily.
"Now, then, perceed."
"First, Mr. Jounce, we'd best come to an understanding," declared the
disguised detective.
"Sartin, sir."
"You expected to meet my friend Barkswell tonight?"
"I did."
"For what purpose?"
"Didn't he tell yer?"
"It was about the payment of money?"
"Exactly."
"For what service?"
"Don't yer know?"
Jounce leaned his face between his hands and grinned.
"For the murder of the detective from New York, Sile Keene?"
"Putty nigh it; but you call it by a hard name, stranger. Did the kurnel
send the rhino?"
"The colonel?"
"I mean Andy Barkswell, of course.
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