And my name is Selfridge, I tell you,"
snapped the owner of that name.
"'Course I ain't got no more sense than the law allows. I'm a buzzard
haid, but me I kinder got to millin' it over and in respect to these
here local improvements, as you might say, I'm doggoned if I _sabe_
the whyfor." There was an imp of malicious deviltry in the black, beady
eyes sparkling at Selfridge from between narrowed lids.
"Just some business changes we're making."
Holt showed his tobacco-stained teeth in a grin splenetic. "Oh. That's
all. I didn't know but what you might be expecting a visitor."
Selfridge flashed a sharp sidelong glance at him. "What do you mean--a
visitor?"
"I just got a notion mebbe you might be looking for one, Mr. Pelfrich.
But I don't know sic' 'em. Like as not you ain't fixing up for this
Gordon Elliot a-tall."
Wally had no come-back, unless it was one to retort in ironic
admiration. "You're a wonder, Holt. Pity you don't start a detective
bureau."
The old man went away cackling dryly.
If Selfridge had held any doubts before, he discarded them now. Holt
would wreck the whole enterprise, were he given a chance. It would never
do to let Elliot meet and talk with him.
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