"You—crook!" roared Cargan.
Mr. Magee smiled as he put the package in the girl's hand.
"Possibly," he said. "But, Mr. Cargan, the blackness of the kettle always has annoyed the pot. Do not be afraid," he added to the girl. "Every gentleman in this room is to spend the evening with me. You will not be annoyed in any way." He looked around the menacing circle. "Go," he said, "and may the gods of the mountain take care of you."
The little professor of Comparative Literature stepped forward and stood pompously before Magee.
"One moment," he remarked. "Before you steal this money in front of our very eyes, I want to inform you who I am, and who I represent here."
"This is no time," replied Magee, "for light talk on the subject of blondes."
"This is the time," said the professor warmly, "for me to tell you that Mr. Kendrick here and myself represent at Baldpate Inn the prosecuting attorney of Reuton county. We—"
