Except for that, the thing worked--and worked well.
The smuggling trade isn't what it was, eh, boys?
That's because Fortescue--and Fletcher Hill--are using up the labour for the mine.

And you may hate 'em like hell, but you can't get away from the fact that this mine is run fair and decent, and there isn't a man here who doesn't stand a good chance of making his fortune if he plays a straight game.
It's been a chance to make good for every one of us, and it's thanks to Fletcher Hill--because he hasn't asked questions--because he's just taken us on trust--and I'm hanged if he doesn't deserve something better than a bullet through his brain, even if he is a magistrate and a policeman and a man of honour.

Have you got that, boys?
Then chew it over and swallow it! And when you've done that, I'll tell you something more." "Oh, let's have it all, boss, now you're at it!" broke in Nixon.

"We shan't have hysterics now.

We're past that stage." Warden turned with a lightning movement and laid his hand upon the girl beside him.