"You're Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough, and
don't you deny it!"
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not denying it," said he.
"D'ye think I'm ashamed of my own name?"
"You've got good cause to be, anyhow."
"What the devil d'you mean by that?" he roared with his fists
clenched.
"No, no, Jack, bluster won't do with me. I was an officer in
Chicago before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know
a Chicago crook when I see one."
McMurdo's face fell. "Don't tell me that you're Marvin of the
Chicago Central!" he cried.
"Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We haven't
forgotten the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there."
"I never shot him."
"Did you not? That's good impartial evidence, ain't it? Well,
his death came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had
you for shoving the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones;
for, between you and me--and perhaps I'm going further than my
duty in saying it--they could get no clear case against you, and
Chicago's open to you to-morrow."
"I'm very well where I am."
"Well, I've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not to
thank me for it.
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