D'you think her
father is going to let her stay down here any longer, where you can
spout your preaching at her!--and you all the time a stool and a
squealer!"
"What's that?" cried Larry.
"I called you a stool!" repeated the malignantly exultant Barney,
alert for any move on the part of the suddenly tensed Larry. "And you
are a stool! Didn't I see you myself go into Headquarters with Casey
and Gavegan where you sold yourself to Chief Barlow!"
"Why, you damned--"
Even before he spoke Larry launched a furious swing straight from the
hip at Barney's twisted face. But Barney had been expecting exactly
that, and was even the quicker. He caught Larry's wrist before it was
fairly started, and thrust a dull-hued automatic into Larry's stomach.
"Behave; damn you," gritted Barney, "or I'll blow your damned guts
out! No--go ahead and try to hit me. I'd like nothing better than to
kill you, you rat, and have a good plea of self-defense!"
Larry let his hands unclench and fall to his sides. "You've got the
drop on me, Barney--but you're a liar."
"You bet I got the drop on you! And not only with my gun. I've got it
on you about being a stool. Everybody knows you are a stool. And
what's more, they know you are a squealer!"
"A squealer!" Larry stiffened again.
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