THE MAN WHO KNEW
"What do you think I want you for?" asked the other savagely.
He led the way to the sitting room, struck a match, and lit the gas. His bag was on the floor. He picked it up, opened it, and took out a flask of whisky which he handed to the other.
"I thought you might need it," he said sarcastically.
Crawley took the flask, poured out a stiff tot, and drank it at a gulp. He was a man of fifty, dark and dour. His face was lined and tanned as one who had lived for many years in a hot climate. This was true of him, for he had spent ten years of his life in the Matabeleland mounted police.
The young man pulled up a chair to the table.
"I 've got an offer to make to you," he said.
"Is there any money in it?"
The other laughed.
"You don't suppose I should make any kind of offer to you that had n't money in it?" he answered contemptuously.
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