“And now what round did he say?”
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” she said tremulously, “but I am very sure that he said the sixteenth round.”
She saw surprise and anger leap into Glendon’s face, and the anger and accusation in the glance he cast at his manager, and she knew the blow had driven home.
And there was reason for his anger. He knew he had talked it over with Stubener, and they had reached a decision to give the audience a good run for its money without unnecessarily prolonging the fight, and to end it in the sixteenth. And here was a woman, from a newspaper office, naming the very round.
Stubener, in the doorway, looked limp and pale, and it was evident he was holding himself together by an effort.
“I’ll see you later,” Pat told him. “Shut the door behind you.”
The door closed, and the two were left alone. Glendon did not speak. The expression on his face was frankly one of trouble and perplexity.
“Well?” she asked.
He got up and towered above her, then sat down again, moistening his lips with his tongue.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” he finally said “The fight won’t end in the sixteenth round.”