was speaking again, with his heavy pounding inflection: “And a month ago you heard Smith and Boone saw their bars; you heard ’em for weeks—and you said nothing.”
9009 sickened. He had the sensation as of a great net which had fallen about him, over his head, around his arms. They had known this all the time! They had known it and had kept it all this time waiting for their good chance. He continued staring at the captain, eye to eye, silently, but a little haze of sweat, like the film on the window-pane of a heated room, was coming upon his forehead.
“Wilson!” the captain called out without moving.
The trusty came from the inner office. His tongue passed between his thin lips, catlike. “Get me number eight key,” said the captain.
“I know you like a book,” the captain went on, almost indifferently to 9009; “I’ve handled the likes of you for years, and”—he paused thoughtfully—“I generally manage to break you fellows.” He glanced up sharply at 9009
