"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant.

Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come
in."

Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze.
Still the gunman did not speak.

"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan.

Waring shook his head.

"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?"

"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!"

Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate
handkerchief. The room was hot.

"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth
a damn."

Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?"

Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet.

"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's
got something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want you
fellows to hear it."