"But all that—about the man waiting on the bank steps?"
"Stage-stuff. Everybody read in the papers that Mr. Delamare was Silas Gyde's executor. A safe guess that you'd be likely to go to his office to-day. It was just a stall. As a matter of fact, we weren't going anyway. Mr. Delamare is coming here."
"Just the same, I wouldn't go—not for all you've offered me!" said Bobo fervently.
"Sure, that's where the pull of the scheme comes in. Look at it reasonably. If the anarchists really meant to croak a millionaire for the good of humanity, as their letter suggested, would they warn him with a letter? Not on your life! Those letters were simply to pave the way for Whigham. But the beauty of the scheme, the novelty of it, lies in the fact that Whigham is not in the secret. They use an innocent little Sunday-school teacher to collect their tribute!"
"Then you think there's no danger?"
"Oh, danger enough if we had refused to fork out. There was danger in it for Silas Gyde."
"Well, I'm mighty glad we paid!"
"Sure! Now let me think. This matter will stand a lot of doping out."
They soon began to experience the full effects of newspaper publicity. A crowd of newspaper reporters, solicitors, cranks, high-toned beggars, besieged the hotel, and in every delivery arrived a stack of letters a foot high.
The hotel management designated its most experienced bellboy to wait upon them exclusively. This youth, Ralph by name, was smart and good-looking, but he had too knowing an eye. His knowledge of life, particularly of the seamy side of life, was disconcerting. Jack felt impelled to warn Bobo to be guarded in Ralph's presence. Jack decided they would have to forego the luxury of personal servants. The danger of the betrayal of their secret was too great.