“Mr. Duff, I realize that it is a waste of time to try to conceal rather evident facts from you. I am Frederick Ransom, a special agent for the Colthwaite Company.”
“You are down here to get the contract for filling up the Man-killer quicksand?” Duff continued, with an air of polite curiosity.
“The contract is not to be awarded,” Ransom answered. “The A., G. & N. M. has decided to do the work itself, with the assistance of two young engineers who have been retained.”
“Reade and Hazelton,” nodded Jim Duff.
“Yes.”
“They may fail—are almost sure to do so. Then, of course, Mr. Ransom, you will have a very excellent chance of securing the contract for the Colthwaite Company.”
“Why, yes; if the young men do fail.”
“Will you pardon a stranger's curiosity, Mr. Ransom? Have you laid your plans yet for the way in which the young men are to fail?”
From most strangers this direct questioning would have been offensive. Jim Duff, however, from long experience in fleecing greenhorns, had acquired a manner and way, of speaking that stood him in good stead.
After a moment's half-embarrassed silence Fred Ransom burst into a laugh that was wholly good-natured.