When the general hubbub was at its highest Tom Rickard edged his way towards McCartney and touched him on the shoulder. In a moment the two were back against the wall where they could talk without being overheard.
"You're playin' a fool's game, Bill," Rickard said in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. "You're lettin' go when you could speak one word and the boys would back you up to a man."
McCartney looked at Rickard a moment with a puzzled expression. He seemed to be trying to settle with himself whether or not Rickard was to be trusted. At last he smiled, a little patronizingly, and laid a hand upon Rickard's shoulder.
"Tom," he said, quietly, "you'd better let me play this hand the way I want to. I could get them to-night—I know that—but I want them later on. I've got something to say—and when the time comes I'm goin' to say it—don't worry. But there's something to be done first."
He paused and gave Rickard another searching glance.
"Are you still playin' this game with me?" he asked pointedly.
Rickard looked about him quickly. Then he moved close to McCartney and put out his hand. McCartney took it and nudged him gently with his elbow.
"Come outside—it's gettin' close in here."
They went out without attracting any special attention, and when they had closed the door behind them McCartney turned towards the river. They walked the full length of the street without speaking, stopping only once to take a glance through the window at MacMurray's, where a crowd of men were gathered in the front room. When they stood at last on the bank of the river, McCartney nodded his head towards Hurley's office, standing back a short way from the street. There was a light in the window.
"Old Hugh is workin' late," he said, with a grunt of sarcasm.