“Incomparably beautiful, Jack! But, oh, such devilish thorns!”
“Good for twenty thousand simoleons at any rate? Eh, Phil?”
“Twenty thousand or bust, Jack,” grinned Rutley. “You watch me do the trick. I’ll make Thorpe wish he were dead. I shall connect his wife’s name instead of Hazel’s with Corway.”
“What!” gasped Jack, dismayed by Rutley’s daring.
“By a little juggling of facts, as it were, I’ll make Thorpe believe Corway wears the ring given him as a love token by Constance. It was Thorpe’s gift to his wife. Do you comprehend? Now, do you understand how simple a thing it will be to make Thorpe wish he were dead? Remember how he and old Harris broke up our investment company?
“Maybe I don’t,” replied Jack dolefully, rubbing his stomach in a significant manner.
“And, Jack!” and Rutley glinted at him meaningly and said very seriously, “That fellow Corway suspects me.”
“The devil he does! We must get him out of our way.”
“Tomorrow!”—and for the space of perhaps five seconds they looked meaningly at each other. Then Rutley broke the silence.
“The child is in the house,” continued Rutley seriously and in a low voice.