Part 1 (2/2)

”You're on,” says I. ”The minute I heard your name I placed you for the smooth party that tried to unload a lot of that phony Radio stock on Mrs. Benny Sherwood. Wanted to euchre her out of the twenty thousand life insurance she got when Benny took the booze count last winter, eh?

Well, it happens she's a friend of Mrs. McCabe, and it was through me your little scheme was blocked. Now I guess we ought to be real well acquainted.”

But I might have known such crude stuff wouldn't get under the hide of a polished article like J. Bayard. He only shrugs his shoulders and smiles sarcastic.

”The pleasure seems to be all mine,” says he. ”But as you choose. Who am I to contend with the defender of the widow and the orphan that between issuing a stock and trading in it there is a slight difference? However deeply I am distressed by your private opinion of me, I shall try to----”

”Ah, ditch the sarcasm,” says I, ”and spring your game! What is it this trip, a wire-tappin' scheme, or just plain green goods?”

”You flatter me,” says J. Bayard. ”No, my business of the moment is not to appropriate any of the princely profits of your--er--honest toil,”

and he stops for another of them acetic-acid smiles.

”Yes,” says I, ”it is a batty way of gettin' money--workin' for it, eh?

But go on. Whatcher mean you lost your dog?”

”I--er--I beg pardon?” says he.

”Ah, get down to bra.s.s tacks!” says I. ”You ain't payin' a society call, I take it?”

He gets that. And what do you guess comes next? Well, he hands over a note. It's from a lawyer's office, askin' him to call at two P.M. that day to meet with me, as it reads, ”and discuss a matter of mutual interest and advantage.” It's signed ”R. K. Judson, Attorney.”

”Well, couldn't you wait?” says I. ”It's only eleven-thirty now, you know.”

”It is merely a question,” says Steele, ”of whether or not I shall go at all.”

”So you hunt me up to do a little private sleuthin' first, eh?” says I.

”It is only natural,” says he. ”I don't know this Mr.--er--Judson, or what he wants of me.”

”No more do I,” says I. ”And the notice I got didn't mention you at all; so you have that much edge on me.”

”And you are going?” says he.

”I'll take a chance, sure,” says I. ”Maybe I'll b.u.t.ton my pockets a little tighter, and tuck my watchfob out of sight; but no lawyer can throw a scare into me just by askin' me to call. Besides, it says 'mutual interest and advantage,' don't it?”

”H-m-m-m!” says Mr. Steele, after gazin' at the note thoughtful. ”So it does. But lawyers have a way of----” Here he breaks off sudden and asks, ”You say you never heard of this Mr. Judson before?”

”That's where you fool yourself,” says I. ”I said I didn't know him; but if it'll relieve your mind any, I've heard him mentioned. He used to handle Pyramid Gordon's private affairs.”

”Ah! Gordon!” says Steele, his s.h.i.+fty eyes narrowin'. ”Yes, yes! Died abroad a month or so ago, didn't he?”

”In Rome,” says I. ”The rheumatism got to his heart. He could see it comin' to him before he left. Poor old Pyramid!”

”Indeed?” says Steele. ”And was Gordon--er--a friend of yours, may I ask?”

”One of my best,” says I. ”Know him, did you?”

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