"Positively!" emphasized the first speaker. "You've got the plan of the place, and the old lady is out. Garwood never goes upstairs until it's medicine time. The best of it is, there's nothing to be planted, Slade."
"I know that, Bert. The only difficulty is if the servant that told Anita Marie so much about the private life of the Garwoods had her signals mixed. I always feel safer when I look over a proposition myself."
"Well, there's nothing to be lost," said Bert. "If it doesn't look like the right time, let it slide. But if you pull it, the books will all be closed for this haul of fish. Just drop a deceased note on the Garwood page of the ledger."
The sentence ended with a chuckle. The men rode along in silence.
"You know," said Bert, "I've got a reputation to maintain. This is a tough life at times, traveling incognito. Back in harness when I hit the big burg!"
"And on a slow train, too. This old roller coaster has been traveling like a snail since I picked it up at Harrisburg."
"That's the trouble, Slade. I like to keep by myself. There are fewer people on a slow train. I let Tony go out of the drawing-room if he wants; but I stay out of sight. When a man's supposed to be in India — and there's millions in the gag—"
"You're right, Bert. I took a good train in to Harrisburg from Cincinnati. I was just noting the difference — that was all. You came all the way from Chicago."
The train began to live up to its slow reputation. Its speed decreased, and the man called Slade arose.
"We're pretty near in," he said. "I'll make that suburban connection, and then—" Some one was opening the door of the compartment. A slender young man entered. Slade stood aside to let him pass.