Winnie's face rose reproachfully before him as he stopped and looked at the entrance.

It almost drove him back.
"We can talk better inside," Agnew urged.
The Westerner glanced hesitatingly up and down the street.
"All right," he agreed, again feeling a fierce desire to get at whatever knowledge Agnew possessed about the exploding shell.
The proprietor nodded familiarly toward him as he walked in.
"Glad to see you.

Nice evening!" Badger, who was not good at acting what he did not feel, mumbled a reply.
"Have something ?" suggested Morton, moving up to the bar.
Badger pushed Agnew's arm away and turned toward a side room.
"No! I don't need a drink to talk." "It greases a fellow's tongue," said Morton, with one of his persuasive smiles.

"You won't have anything ?" as a waiter appeared.
"Not to-night." "Some whisky," said Agnew, and the waiter went away, returning shortly with a bottle and some glasses.
"Some cards!" said Agnew, and the waiter brought two unopened packs.
The Westerner's brow grew black.

He fancied he saw through Agnew's little game.