There was not a trace of hesitation in Wallingford.
“I’ve made my lowest offer,” he said. “Ten thousand or I’ll drop these in the mail box.”
They were quite certain that Wallingford meant business, as indeed he did. He had addressed the envelope to Blackie Daw and he was quite sure that he could make the shares worth at least ten thousand.
Once more they conferred.
“All right,” agreed Mr. Squinch reluctantly. “We’ll do it—out of charity.”
“I don’t care what it’s out of, so long as I get the money,” said Wallingford.
In New York, where Wallingford met Blackie Daw by appointment, the latter was eager to know the details.
“The letter did the business, I suppose, eh, Wallingford?”
“Fine and dandy,” assented Wallingford. “A great piece of work, and timed to the hour. I saw the envelope in that batch of mail before I made my play.”