Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably.

Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder.

Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing.
A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before.
Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly.
"Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand.

The cat stole closer.

"I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh?
This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch.
At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice.