He could hardly believe that Brevoort's nerve was really
shaken.
The street below had grown quieter. From below came the sound of a
door being closed. Brevoort started, cursed, and glanced at Pete.
"Closin' up for the night," he said. Pete quickly shifted his gaze to
the open window. He did not want Brevoort to know that he had noticed
the start, or those hands that trembled.
They rose early, had breakfast at the restaurant across the street, and
returned to the room, Brevoort with a sogun in which he rolled and
corded his effects and Pete with some brown paper in which he wrapped
the sacks of gold. Brevoort borrowed a pencil from the proprietor and
addressed the package.
"But how's the bank goin' to know who it's from?" queried Pete,
"That's right. I'll put The Spider's name here in the corner. Say, do
you know we're takin' a whole lot of trouble for a man that wouldn't
lift a hand to keep us from bein' sent up?" And Brevoort weighed the
package thoughtfully. "By rights we ought to hang onto this dough. We
earned it."
"I sure don't want any of it, Ed.
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