"But will he give them up?"
Whitley looked at him a few minutes in amused contempt, then said, mockingly, "Oh yes; of course he will be glad to favor us. All you need to do is to put on your best Sunday School manners and say sweetly: 'Mr. Falkner, Mr. Whitley would like those papers that you have in the long leather pocket-book tied with a shoe-string.' He'll hand them over instantly. The only reason I have taken all this trouble to meet you out here to-night is because I am naturally easily embarrassed and don't like to ask him for them myself."
Frank was confused and made no reply, until Whitley asked: "Where does the fellow live now?"
"I don't know, but he's in old man Wicks' office every evening; has a desk there, and works on some fool Association work."
Whitley nodded. "Then you will find the papers in Uncle Bobbie's safe."
"But how am I to get them?"
"I don't know; you can't buy them. You can't bluff him. And he won't scare. There's only one other way I know."
"You mean that I must steal them?" gasped Frank.
Whitley looked at him with an evil smile. "That's rather a hard word for a good Christian, isn't it? Let's say, obtain possession of the documents without Mr. Falkner's knowledge. It sounds better."
"I'm no thief," snapped Frank.