Scowling, M'Ginnis stood awhile to listen. Then, lifting the flap of the
bar, he passed through the narrow door beyond, along the passage and so
to that dingy office, from the open door of which a light streamed.
Scowling still, M'Ginnis strode in, then stood suddenly still, lifted
his right hand toward his breast, then paused as Soapy, turning about in
the swing chair, took a heavy, ivory-handled revolver from where it had
lain on the desk beside a packet of letters tied up in a faded blue
ribbon.
"Lock th' door, Bud, lock th' door!" said he softly. "So!" he nodded,
as M'Ginnis obeyed. "'N' say, Bud, take that hand away from y'r gun
an'--keep it away--see?" And the lamplight glittered on the long barrel
that rested on Soapy's knee.
"So--this is th' game--hey?" demanded M'Ginnis hoarsely, his bloodshot
eyes fixed on Soapy unwinkingly.
"'S right, Bud. Y' see, I been takin' a peek int' that little tin safe
o' yours--say, it looks like you'd had a bit of a rough house, Bud!"
Soapy's cigarette quivered and was still again, while M'Ginnis watched
him, breathing thickly but speaking no word, and Soapy went on again:
"I been takin' a peek into that little tin safe o' yours, an' I found
some papers you'd been kind o' treasurin' up about me, so I burnt 'em,
Bud--not as they mattered very much, there ain't nobody t' worry when
I snuff it--but I found as you'd got other papers about other guys as
would matter some t' them, I guess--so I burnt 'em too, Bud.
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