"Nothing doing. I'm too wise for that, Frenchy. I don't double-cross any one so smart as he is."
"All right. Split it three ways, then."
* * *
Chefano's lips twitched as he seemed to consider the matter.
"I'll tell you what, Frenchy," he said. "Twenty-five per cent for you, deducting what you've already received. That is, if Coffran will agree."
Frenchy's teeth shone as he smiled. He did not reply at once. The car was following a curving course; his eyes were on the road as he tried to maintain the rapid speed.
At last he spoke.
"That might do," he said. "But when you figure that we have the swag now — all ours — here in this car—"
He stopped as Chefano uttered a sharp exclamation. Frenchy looked down at the jewel box. A hand was upon it — a hand that came through the open window at the back of the coupe! Only the hand was visible in the moonlight. Frenchy could not see the arm.
"You have the swag?" whispered a mocking voice. "You are wrong. It is mine!"