"Where's your pile?" came the answer from the proprietor, a fellow named
Credo, who was a good-looking octoroon.
Oscar displayed a big roll of bills.
"All right; what will you have?"
"Whisky."
The man placed a bottle and glasses on the bar when the detective
reached over, caught the man's eye, and said in a very low but sharp,
decisive tone:
"Mart, on your life, look to business now."
The man started, his swarthy face assumed a ghastly hue, and there came
a look of terror to his eyes.
"You know me?"
"It's Dunne."
"Yes."
"What's your pull to-night?"
"You have visitors in your house."
The man trembled.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, and mark me, I know it all; yes, all. There is nothing for you in
it only through me. Mark well my words: I can trust you; if not, it's
bad for you."
"What is it you're after?"
"I am close down on this whole business."
"What business?"
"You want it straight?"
"Yes."
"_Redalli_."
Credo fell back like a man suddenly surprised. He appeared for an
instant to lose his breath, but he managed to almost gasp:
"Are you on to that?"
"I am on to the whole scheme and just ready to close in. I tell you
there is nothing for you in it, and you're lucky."
"I am?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"You will make a good stake through me.
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