“I must trot along in a minute or two,” hinted Goodwin. “Was there anything in particular?”
Blythe did not reply at once.
“Old Losada would make it a hot country,” he remarked at length, “for the man who swiped that gripsack of treasury boodle, don’t you think?”
“Undoubtedly, he would,” agreed Goodwin calmly, as he rose leisurely to his feet. “I’ll be running over to the house now, old man. Mrs. Goodwin is alone. There was nothing important you had to say, was there?”
“That’s all,” said Blythe. “Unless you wouldn’t mind sending in another drink from the bar as you go out. Old Espada has closed my account to profit and loss. And pay for the lot, will you, like a good fellow?”
“All right,” said Goodwin. “Buenas noches.”
“Beelzebub” Blythe lingered over his cups, polishing his eyeglasses with a disreputable handkerchief.
“I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t,” he muttered to himself after a time. “A gentleman can’t blackmail the man that he drinks with.”
