He rose, but Calder waved him back to the swivel-chair.
"Not dry a bit," he said cheerily. "Not five minutes ago I had a drink of—water."
"All right," said Hardy, and settled back into his chair.
"Hardy, there's been crooked work around here."
"What in hell——"
"Get your hand away from that gun, friend."
"What the devil's the meaning of all this?"
"That's very well done," said Calder. "But this isn't the stage. Are we going to talk business like friends?"
"I've got nothing agin you," said Hardy testily, and his eyes followed Calder's right hand as if fascinated. "What do you want to say? I'll listen. I'm not very busy."
"That's exactly it," smiled Tex Calder, "I want you to get busier."
"Thanks."
"In the first place I'll be straight with you. Wells Fargo hasn't sent me here."
"Who has?"
"My conscience."
"I don't get your drift."
