“It will go back!” he responded determinedly, shrugging off his momentary diffidence. “Even though I have to make it, dollar by dollar, and though it takes me twenty years! But I tell you, Frank, that it will not be needed. Here we have the chance of a life time. If we only had the money to start with, the whole business could be carried on openly and decently—barring, of course,” he added, with his sudden shamefaced smile, “the little bit of cutting-in I’ll have to do down-town on the Curry wires!”
“One minute—before we go any farther with this. Supposing we successfully get this glove-box, and successfully watch Curry, and on the strength of our knowledge invest this money, and get our returns, and find ourselves with enough—well, with enough not to starve on—will you promise me this: that it will be the last?”
“But why should it be the last?”
“You know as well as I do! You know that I want to be honest, to live straight and aboveboard; but a hundred times more, that I want to see you honest and aboveboard!”
He studied the tense and passionate mood that flitted across her face, that seemed to deepen the shadows about her brooding violet eyes.
“I would do anything for you, Frank!” he said, with an inadequate and yet eloquent little outthrust of the arms.
“Then do this for me! Let us get back to the daylight world again!”
“But would it satisfy us? Would we—?”
“Would we—?” she echoed forlornly. Then she turned suddenly away, to hide a trace of inconsequential tears.
“We have got to!” she cried out passionately over her shoulder, as she stooped to the suit-case and deftly opened it. A moment later she was rummaging hurriedly through its neatly packed contents.