“It’s the duplicate of Blake’s,” he said.
“You’re right,” answered the other man. “Practice makes perfect. Remember that phony signature I had the first time you met me? Good enough to fool the average man; but this one will fool the best.”
Paget nodded.
“I’ve played square with you,” said the false Blake, in a low tone. “You hold all the trump cards. You’ve got Blake tucked away somewhere so you can bring him back if you want. I can’t make a move without your say-so.
“But I don’t object. I’m sitting pretty and I expect to get a decent cut, with all these millions to play with. You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“No.”
“Then give me the low-down. Something’s the matter. Tell me part of it, if you don’t want to spill it all. Maybe I can help you out.”
PAGET deliberated. Blake took a chair opposite and watched as the clubman gradually regained his composure. When he saw Paget produce a cigarette and the ivory holder, Blake smiled.
“I’m going to let you in on something,” said Paget quietly. “It goes back to that night — the last night before we pulled the job.
“You remember that I thought some one was looking in the window?”