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"Nothing about him," said Redwood. "Bound to be eaten. Both of them.
It's too terrible.... Hullo! Cossar!"
"
"
"
"
This your stuff?" asked Cossar, waving the paper.
Well, why don't you stop it?" he demanded.
Can't be jiggered!" said Cossar.
Buy the place?" he cried. "What nonsense! Burn it! I knew you chaps
would fumble this. What are you to do? Why--what I tell you.
"You? Do? Why! Go up the street to the gunsmith's, of course. Why?
For guns. Yes--there's only one shop. Get eight guns! Rifles. Not
elephant guns--no! Too big. Not army rifles--too small. Say it's to
kill--kill a bull. Say it's to shoot buffalo! See? Eh? Rats? No! How the
deuce are they to understand that? Because we want eight. Get a lot of
ammunition. Don't get guns without ammunition--No! Take the lot in a cab
to--where's the place? Urshot? Charing Cross, then. There's a
train---Well, the first train that starts after two. Think you can do
it? All right. License? Get eight at a post-office, of course. Gun
licenses, you know. Not game. Why? It's rats, man.
"You--Bensington. Got a telephone? Yes. I'll ring up five of my chaps
from Ealing. Why five? Because it's the right number!
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