—this young whipper-snapper of a girl here had killed her?" demanded irate old Brother Ezra.
"We'd better cut out this wrangling!" suggested Big Ben Locke, as he moved over toward where his two prisoners sat on the Louis-Seize sofa. He made a curt motion for them to get to their feet.
Wendy Washburn, at the same moment, stepped over closer to the chair, where I sat. I could not see the expression on his face, for I refused to look at him. But something about that expression, apparently, was distasteful to Copperhead Kate. For as she rose to her feet she emitted a loud and fearless hoot of derision. Then she swung about and faced me.
"It's just like you wax-doll ribs," she called out with a snort, "to freeze on to something worth about half a million!"
"Worth about half a million?" I repeated, being so wide of the mark for a moment that I thought she was still harping on the club-bag and the loot it held.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked her.
"I mean that guy there," she retorted, pointing straight at Wendy Washburn. "And you know what he's worth, or you wouldn't be workin' overtime ropin' it down!"
