grunted. “Forget Cheng. We’re in four hundred bucks. Ain’t that enough for you? What’s eating you?”
“I don’t know.”
The mechanic swore under his breath, and Warner looked up sharply, his reddish beard jutting out.
“Wonder what’s in the box?” muttered Mac, stretching himself out on the bed.
“We’ll know in a few minutes—as soon as we open it.” Warner rose, moved the one chair in front of the keyhole after locking the door, and hung his coat on the back of the chair. Then he produced several lengths of reed cords, similar to those that bound the box. These he laid on the table beside the box, and pulled down the shade, turning up the gas jet full at the same time. Mac sat up, no longer drowsy.
“Listen, kid,” he observed after a minute. “I know darn well you’re boss of this outfit, but I got a hunch. It will be unlucky to open that box.” As Warner proceeded calmly to work the seal loose with the blade of a pocket knife, he added, “It ain’t square to Cheng to do it.”
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