"Well, I guess you've got nothing on me," Barney growled at them, "so
I'll be moving along. Better come, too, Jimmie."
While he spoke a figure had moved from Larry's closet with the silence
of a swift shadow. It's thin hand gripped Barney's shoulder.
"I guess _I've_ got something on you!" it said.
Barney whirled. "Red Hannigan!" he gasped.
"Yes, Red Hannigan!--you stool--you squealer!" said Red Hannigan. "I
heard you brag about being Barlow's stool, and I heard everything else
you bragged about to Joe Ellison's girl. I'd bump you off right now if
I had my gat with me and if I had any chance at a get-away. But I'll
be looking after you, and the gang will be looking after you, till you
die--the same as you set us after Larry Brainard! No matter what else
happens to you, you'll always have that as something extra waiting for
you! And when the time comes, we'll get you!"
As silently as he had appeared from the closet, as silently he let
himself out of the room. The glowering features of Barney had faded to
a pasty white while Hannigan had spoken, and now the hand which tried
to bring a handkerchief to his lips shook so that he could hardly find
his face. For none knew so well as Barney Palmer how inescapable was
this thing which would be hanging over him until the end of his days.
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