"We believe that he has them secreted here in New Orleans. The plan is that by your protestation of interest, affection or whatnot, you will induce him to place them in your hands for safekeeping. We are certain he has been furnished these things with help from Kansas City. Do you think you can do it?" I ended by asking suddenly.
"What will happen if I fail?" she surprised me by asking.
"If you fail and can show a clean slate, nothing unpleasant will happen," I replied rather coldly, suggestive of what might happen if the reverse were true.
"I—think—I may be able to make some headway, but it may take more time than you anticipate," she warned me quietly.
"I don't care how much time you take, or how much expense, but it must be a continuous performance—nothing more than an intermission will be allowable. This telephone will be permanently connected with mine in the next room. If he wants you to drink, do so, and nothing containing alcohol will come to you, and though he is copper-lined, we will contrive to put him at a disadvantage and you can easily use the 'phone to ask for instructions when you are not sure." Then contemplating her critically for a moment, I added—"You said you were willing to do anything."
"I know I did—and I will—and I begin to feel safe—you will protect me, won't you?" she asked me with a delightful appeal in her eyes that could not be refused.
"Every precaution has been made for that—you will not be disturbed; the waiter who serves you is one of our men—but you must act, you must succeed. Becker is probably in his office now; call him up," I added, giving his number.
There was no doubt about her eagerness and distinct intention to succeed, to do anything, but I could not decide whether she was moved by fear or a genuine desire to coöperate, get revenge, or to save Burrell.
Becker fell incontinently during the first round.