“You have to wait.” Paget spoke sharply now.
“I know that. You’ve got me where you want me. I can’t squawk. I’ve played the waiting game fair enough. But it gets tiresome. I want action.”
“How’s this?”
PAGET’S hand appeared in the light holding a roll of bills. The other man responded with a gasp of eagerness. He came forward and reached for the money. Paget let him take it.
The man dropped into a chair beside the table and counted off twenty-five ten-dollar bills. His hands moved excitedly.
When he had completed his counting of the currency, he raised his head, and for the first time his features were completely visible in the table light.
A sallow face, with quick, active eyes; thin lips beneath a moustache with pointed waxed ends. The features bore an almost identical resemblance to those of Wilbur Blake.
“A little less eagerness,” said Paget quietly. “It doesn’t go with the part.”
The man nodded. Then he gave a short laugh.
“The laugh can be improved,” added Paget. “Don’t use it often. Now try this. I’m making a hint that makes you suspect I want a favor from you.”