"How much money?" questioned Harry.
"I'm shooting for ten grand," said Powell. "That means, five thousand simoleons is what you've got to pay."
"That's agreeable to me."
"I'm going up to think it over," declared Powell. "There's two reasons besides cash why I'm willing to work with you. You're wise enough to know what they are, so I'll spill them.
"One is because you've got me more worried than I was. I'm going out on this deal, but I've been hesitating. I can't wait much longer.
"And that gives the second reason. You're wise to me, and if I want to dodge you completely, I'll have to welsh on the other proposition. But I want to be sure that I'll get my five grand from you."
"You'll be as sure of it as you are of the ten thousand you're after." Powell nodded without thinking. It was evident that Harry Vincent had cleverly contrived to arouse the man's suspicious nature.
"It's ten o'clock now," said Powell thoughtfully. "I'm going to wait another hour. I'll think things over — up in my room. I want to be alone a while."
"Wait a moment," said Harry. "I'll make terms with you first. How about letting me in on everything right now. Taking your five thousand — "
"Nix!" exclaimed Powell. "Spill you the ten-grand lay? That don't work. I'm taking you in with me as partners. You've got work to do — you'll have to earn the dough you're spending."