“The verse?” said Angel. “Can you make head or tail of it?”
“No”—Jimmy shook his head—“can you?”
“Not a blessed thing,” Angel frankly confessed.
Through the next three courses neither man spoke. When coffee had been placed on the table, Jimmy broke the silence—
“You need not worry about the verse. I have only stolen a march of a few days. Then Connor will have it; and some girl or other will have it. Massey would have had it too.” He smiled grimly.
“What is it all about?”
Jimmy looked at his questioner with some suspicion.
“Don’t you know?” he demanded.
“Haven’t got the slightest notion. That is why I came to see you.”
“Curious!” mused Jimmy. “I thought of looking you up for the very same purpose. We shall know in a day or two,” he went on, beckoning the waiter. “The old man said it was all in the will. He just told me the verse before he died. The ruling passion, don’t you know. ‘Learn it by heart, Jimmy,’ he croaked; ‘it’s two millions for you if you guess it’—and that’s how he died. My bill, waiter. Which way do you go?” he asked as they turned into Piccadilly.