"What's this, any good?" Mike had stuffed one bulging wallet back into his pocket and drawn a long envelope from one of the upper pigeonholes.
Wolvert glanced over his shoulder at the label and shrugged.
"Small change, a thousand or so, but take it along if you want it. It's easy money."
"A thousand cold iron men look good to me. I can feel 'em rolling into my hand right now, but those big figures make me afraid the alarm clock's liable to go off any minute an' wake me up. Say, get a move on, Jack. I'm gettin' a cold chill like someone was watchin' me!"
Betty gasped inaudibly and shrank still further back in her retreat, but Wolvert only shrugged in impatience.
"That Crane contract is the main thing; it's worth more than all the rest put together, to us!" he grumbled. "Get your head out of the light, Mike!"
"Is this it, in the long blue envelope?" The other had overcome his momentary uneasiness and resumed his search. "Feels kinder thick."
"No, don't pay dividends any more. It's the West—what's that?"
Betty had caught at the leg of the piano as her cramped limbs wavered beneath her and a little silver ring which she wore rapped smartly upon the polished surface of the wood. For one thrilling moment she held her breath, but the lantern swept around the opposite side of the room to the door and then flashed back and Mike swore once more.
"I've had enough of this, I tell you! I don't feel right and I've got a hunch that I'd better be movin'. Let the bloomin' contract go if you can't find it; we've got enough as it is!"