“And always most astutely denied,” scoffed Durkin.
“Many things are astutely denied, nowadays, when a great deal of money comes out of them,” she said, wearily.
“But what have you and I to do with all this?” he broke in.
“Quite enough! You see, there’s a delay of fifteen minutes, naturally, in getting a result to the pool-rooms. That gives us our chance; so, we hold up the message here, ’phone it at once over to MacNutt’s rooms, three doors from Penfield’s, and, when he has had time to drop in, as it were, and place his money, we send through our intercepted message.”
“Then Penfield has no idea who or what MacNutt is?”
“He knows him only as a real estate agent with a passion for plunging, a great deal of money, and—and—” The girl shrugged a rounded shoulder, flushed a little, and did not finish.
“And you know him as—?” suggested Durkin.
“That lies outside the area of essential information,” she answered, with her first show of animation.
“But you?” Durkin persisted. She met his eyes, but she refused to deal with his cross-questioning. He was still waiting for that betraying sign which was to conjure away the enigma. Yet he rejoiced, inwardly, at the thought that it had not come.
“Both you and I shall have to drop in, on certain days, and do what we can at Penfield’s lower house, while Mackenzie is doing the Madison Avenue place. We’ve been going there, on and off, for weeks now, getting ready for—for this!”