"When my men are paid, I will go. But first, I must have my knife."
His eyes roved longingly in the direction of the dagger.
The girl took a quick step backward and covered Mascola's waist-line with the automatic.
"You'll go now," she said. Turning to Gregory she added: "Tell him you'll pay him down-town."
Gregory picked up the Italian's knife before replying:
"I'll be at the bank at two," he said, making no move to comply with Mascola's request for his weapon.
Mascola clenched his hands. His face grew red with passion. For an instant he glared from Gregory to the girl. Then the color faded. Turning to his men he spoke rapidly to them in their own tongue. The workmen retired sullenly and picking up their coats followed their leader to the door. Mascola hesitated for a moment on the threshold. Then, checking the angry threat which rose to his lips, he went out.
Gregory watched him go in silence. Then he turned to the girl.
"My name is Gregory," he said. "You happened along just about right for me."