“Ambiguous, ungrammatical, but convincing,” murmured Jimmy.
“I want him, by the way!” Angel had suddenly become alert.
“If you’re going to have a row, I’m off,” said Jimmy, finishing his drink.
Angel caught his arm. A man had entered the saloon, and was looking round as though in search of somebody. He caught Jimmy’s eye and started. Then he threaded his way through the crowded room.
“Hullo, Jim——” He stopped dead as he saw Jimmy’s companion, and his hand went into his pocket.
“Hullo, Connor!”—Angel’s smile was particularly disarming—“you’re the man I want to see.”
“What’s the game?” the other snarled. He was a big, heavily-built man, with a drooping mustache.
“Nothing, nothing,” smiled Angel. “I want you for the Lagos job, but there’s not enough evidence to convict you. Make your mind easy.”
The man went white under his tan; his hand caught the edge of the table before him.
“Lagos!” he stammered. “What—what——”