CHAPTER XXII
RILEY SHOOTS HIS BOLT
Henry Cope had a habit of closing his
store at night himself. On this particular
night his clerks had left, and he was
lingering in his cramped little office to straighten
out his books. A single swinging oil lamp burned
dimly in the front of the store. The old man betrayed
annoyance as he heard the front door open,
and the sound of heavy footsteps came to his ears.
"Now, who wants anything at this hour?" he muttered. "Hello! Who is it? What d'ye want?" He pushed the spectacles up on to his forehead and leaned back from the desk to peer out through the rather dingy office window, seeing two dark figures approaching.
"Evenin', Mr. Cope," saluted Riley, his ample form filling the narrow doorway. "Don't git up. I've just dropped in to have a few words with ye."
"Good evenin', Mr. Riley. This is a surprise. What're you doin' in Kingsbridge at this hour? Howdy do, Dyke?"
