"I'll be there."
CHAPTER XX
THE BEGINNING OF THE NIGHT
George Deaves and Evan sat in the Deaves limousine with the package of bonds between them. Deaves was perspiring and fidgetty, Evan the picture of imperturbability—not but what Evan was excited too, but the display of agitation the other was making put Evan on his mettle to show nothing. The car was lying against the curb on the North side of the Queensboro Bridge Plaza, and they were watching the hands of a clock in a bank building creep to half-past eight.
"Why do you suppose they insisted on our waiting here?" said Deaves querulously.
"Can't say," answered Evan. "I have fancied that some of their orders were just thrown in to mystify us, to undermine our morale. Possibly they stipulated we must leave this point at eight-thirty so they would know exactly when to expect us."
"That man who just passed us, how he stared! Do you suppose he could have been one of them?"
"There must be a lot of them then. Everybody stares. Like ourselves, they wonder what we're waiting here for."
On the stroke of the half hour they gave the chauffeur word to proceed out Stonewall avenue. The village of Regina is not a beautiful hamlet. Its founders had large ideas; they laid off the principal street a hundred feet wide, but the city has its own ideas about the proper width of streets, and when in the course of time the municipality took over Regina it paved but two-thirds of Stonewall avenue, leaving a muddy morass at each side. The buildings that lined this thoroughfare were something between those of a city slum and those of a Western boom town. They had no difficulty in picking out Beechurst street; the big stone church in its muddy yard was a horror.