I detailed the circumstances.
The anger that flashed in his eyes was more eloquent than the outbreak of curses I expected to hear.
“Um!” he said at last with a grim smile. “It's lucky, after all, that you had something besides cotton in that skull of yours, Wilton.”
“A fool might have been caught by it,” I said modestly.
“There looks to be trouble ahead,” he said, “There's a rascally gang in the market these days.” And the King of the Street sighed over the dishonesty that had corrupted the stock gamblers' trade. I smiled inwardly, but signified my agreement with my employer.
“Well, who wrote them?” he asked almost fiercely. “They seem to come from the same hand.”
“Maybe you'd better ask that fellow who had his eye at your keyhole when I left the office this noon.”
“Who was that?” The Wolf gave a startled look. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“He was a well-made, quick, lithe fellow, with an eye that reminded me of a snake. I gave chase to him, but couldn't overhaul him. He squirmed away in the crowd, I guess.”
The last part of my tale was unheard. At the description of the snake-eyed man, Doddridge Knapp sank back in his chair, the flash of anger died out of his eyes, and his mind was far away.