“The paper I have given you is a facsimile reproduction of the original copy, and that may be inspected at any time at my office.”
The girl was scanning the rhyme in an agony of perplexity.
“I shall never do it,” she said in despair.
Angel took the paper gently from her hand.
“Don’t attempt it,” he said kindly. “There is plenty of time. I do not think that either of your rival competitors have gained anything by the advantage they have secured. I also have had in my possession a copy of the rhyme for the past week.”
The girl’s eyes opened wide in astonishment.
“You?” she said.
Angel’s explanation was arrested by a singular occurrence.
Connor sat at one end of the row of chairs moodily eying the paper. Jimmy, thoughtfully stroking his beard at the other end, suddenly rose and walked to where his brooding confederate sat. The man shrunk back as he approached, and Jimmy, seating himself by his side, bent forward and said something in a low voice. He spoke rapidly, and Angel, watching them closely, saw a look of incredulous surprise come into Connor’s face. Then wrath and incredulity mingled, and Connor sprang up, striking the back of the chair with his fist.
“What?” he roared. “Give up a chance of a fortune? I’ll see you——”