Out of the corner of his eye Shayne saw Jim Marsh’s face go ashen. The man jumped to his feet, ejaculating in a choked voice, “You mustn’t do that, Shayne. I warn you not to.”
Disregarding him, Shayne said, “Is that so, Joe? You’ve got so much Stallings money that the odds have dropped to even money? So much the better. Mark me down for a couple of grand.”
Marsh made a gesture of resignation and sank back into his chair.
Shayne listened a moment, frowning, then said, “No, Joe. I hadn’t heard that rumor. Sure. My bet stands on that basis. Two grand. And you’ll get a certified check in the morning.” He cradled the phone and turned casually to Naylor.
“You’d better grab some of that even money, too. Looks like a good thing to me.”
Turning his attention to Marsh, Shayne said, “There’s the pay-off. Now I have got money invested. The Stallings crowd is insisting that all bets will have to be paid even if you decide to withdraw for any reason. So I’m out on a limb on you for two grand. Saw it off if you’ve got the guts.”
He stalked out of the apartment. Naylor was behind him when he opened the elevator door. A triumphant smile wreathed his dark face, and he mopped sweat from it with a shaking hand.
“That was fast work, Shayne. By God, that was wonderful.”
Shayne shrugged off the compliment. He growled, “I still think he’s got better than an even chance to win. He must have let it slip that he was thinking of backing out and that’s brought a rush of Stallings money to knock the odds down.”
Shayne pushed a button, and they descended. “I don’t know what’s come over him,” Naylor complained. “I knew he was getting jittery about losing, but I’ve tried all along to tell him it’s in the bag.”