Barnes caught the queer, perplexed look that the Irishman shot at him
out of the corner of his eye.
"Perhaps you'd better see that the scoundrels don't give us short
measure, Mr. Loeb," said O'Dowd. Loeb hesitated for a second, and
then, evidently in obedience to a command from the speaker's eye,
moved off to where Peter was opening the intake. Jones followed,
bawling to some one in the stable-yard.
O'Dowd lowered his voice. "Bedad, your friend made a smart job of it
last night. He opened the tank back of the house and let every damn'
bit of our gas run out. Is she safe inside?"
"Yes, thanks to you, old man. You didn't catch him?"
"Not even a whiff of him," said the other lugubriously. "The devil's
to pay. In the name of God, how many were in your gang last night?"
"That is for Mr. Loeb to find out," said Barnes shrewdly.
"Barnes, I let you off last night, and I let her off as well. In
return, I ask you to hold your tongue until the man down there gets a
fair start. "O'Dowd was serious, even imploring.
"What would she say to that, O'Dowd? I have to consider her interests,
you know."
"She'd give him a chance for his white alley, I'm sure, in spite of
the way he treated her.
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