He crossed over
to the bar.
"Where's Bill?" he asked.
"Back there," and the dispenser of drinks inclined his head toward a
door at the rear. "Go on in."
The fellow's manner was civil enough, yet Westcott's teeth set with a
feeling that he was about to face an emergency. Yet there was no other
way; he must make Lacy talk. He walked straight to the door, opened
it, stepped into the room beyond, and turned the key in the lock,
dropping it into his pocket. Then he faced about. He was not alone
with Lacy; Enright sat beside the desk of the other and was staring at
him in startled surprise. Westcott also had a hazy impression that
there was or had been another person. The saloon-keeper rose to his
feet, angry, and thrown completely off his guard by Westcott's
unexpected action.
"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded hotly. "Why did you lock
the door?"
"Naturally, to keep you in here until I am through with you," returned
the miner coldly. "Sit down, Lacy; we've got a few things to talk
over. You left word for me at the hotel, and, being a polite man, I
accepted your invitation.
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