A knock sounded on the door. Cron and his confederates froze into tense attitudes, then relaxed.
"It must be our customer," Cron whispered. "Open the door."
As it swung back, Max Lynch stepped into the room. He smiled blandly.
"Hello, boys. You don't look as if you were expecting me."
"We weren't—exactly," Cron muttered. "What do you want, Max? You know I've warned you not to come here."
The gambler had been making a quick survey of the room. His eyes came to rest on the Rembrandt. He smiled again, unpleasantly.
"Say, who are you anyway?" Hoges demanded angrily. "What business do you have with us?"
"My business is with your pal, Hanley Cron. We're partners."
"Partners?" Hoges echoed, his eyes narrowing. He wheeled toward Cron. "If you've been double crossing me——"
"Oh, calm down," Cron said sharply. "Lynch and I had a little private business together but it has nothing to do with the picture racket."