Dey's in a big
leather pocket-book, tied with er sho' string."
Like a flash, Dick understood. The papers were in the safe, but as he
said, he did not know the combination. "Papers?" he said, in a tone
of surprise, in order to gain time.
"Yes sah, papers; dat yo' keeps in dar." He nodded toward the safe.
"I wants em quick." The hand that held the revolver came slowly to a
level with the dark face.
"Shoot if you want to," said Dick, easily, "but I'm telling you the
truth. I don't know how to open the safe."
The negro looked puzzled, and Dick, seeing his advantage instantly,
let his hand fall easily on his leg, close to the paper weight.
"Besides," he said carelessly, "if its my papers you want, that's my
desk behind--" He checked himself suddenly as though he had said more
than he intended.
The negro's face lighted at what he thought was Dick's mistake, and
forgetting himself, half turned in the revolving chair, while the
muzzle of the revolver was shifted for just the fraction of a second.
It was enough. With the quickness of a serpent, Dick's hand shot out,
and the heavy weight caught the negro above the right ear, and with
a groan he slid from the chair to the floor.
When the black ruffian regained consciousness, Dick was still sitting
on the edge of the table, calmly swinging his feet, but in his hand
was his visitor's weapon.
"Well," he said, quietly, "you've had quite a nap. Do you feel better?
Or do you think one of these pills would help you?" He slowly cocked
and raised the revolver.
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