Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said, turning
to Quigley.

Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been
easy enough.

Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the
paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the
check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands.

As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm.
"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were
unreadable.

The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it,
he relinquished the sack.

Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you
before, you can't bluff worth a damn."

Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest,
the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in
his hand.

"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never
throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill."

The door clicked shut.

Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed