“Yes, yes,” acquiesced Kidder, impatiently; “but what astonishes me is the syndicate's moderation. I wonder what they'll do next.”
“I wonder,” echoed the broker, who really was wondering whether the market was going up or down.
Kidder, however, went up-town and saw Jesse L. Boon. He told Boon all he knew and much that he suspected, and Boon in return admitted that Welch, Boon & Shaw “had lost a few pieces”—but not for publication. Such things are bound to happen, and are charged to profit and loss. Kidder knew better, but all that he could do was to pray that he might again cross the trail of the plunder-recoverer who had called himself Robison.
III—AS PROOFS OF HOLY WRIT
I
THE bell of the telephone on the desk of the alert city editor of the New York Planet rang twice. The alert city editor did not instantly answer it. He was reading a love-letter not meant for his eyes. It had been sent in with his mail by mistake. The bell rang again.
“Yes?” he said, angrily. “Who? Oh, hello, Bill!” There was a pause. Then: “Shall we? Why, friend, he's already started. Thanks awfully! Sure thing!”
He swung round and cast a roaming glance about the big room. It was Sunday, the sacred day when nothing happened.