“No,” said Connor, “and you’re not expected to know him. But he’s putting up the money, and that’s good enough for you, Bat—a hundred pounds a man, and it will be paid to-night.”
Bat Sands spat on his hand.
“Bring him in. He’s good enough,” and there was a murmur of approval.
Connor disappeared for a moment, and returned followed by a well-dressed stranger, who met the questioning glances of his audience with a quiet smile. His eyes swept over every face. They rested for a moment on Vinnis, they looked doubtfully at old George, who, seated on a chair with crossed legs and his head bent, was talking with great rapidity in an undertone to himself.
“Gentlemen,” said the stranger, “I have come with the object of gaining your help. Mr. Connor has told me that he has already informed you about Reale’s millions. Briefly, I have decided to forestall other people, and secure the money for myself. I offer you a half share of the money, to be equally divided amongst you, and as an earnest of my intention, I am paying each man who is willing to help me a hundred pounds down.”
He drew from one of his pockets a thick package of notes, and from two other pockets similar bundles. He handed them to Connor, and the hungry eyes of the “Borough Lot” focused upon the crinkling paper.
“What I shall ask you to do,” the stranger proceeded, “I shall tell you later——”
“Wait a bit,” interrupted Bat. “Who else is in this?”
“We alone,” replied the man.
“Is Jimmy in it?”