“Thanks. You are very good.”
“I must say that I don’t quite understand it all; but the results are what counts and are what I want to see. Farbush is quite carried away by your success; but your, as he calls it, boldness, has about taken his breath. He would prefer less spectacular effects. You see, these old money-squeezing fellows are like moles; they get their victories by digging underground; and to do things as openly as you have done, frightens them.”
“He’ll have to steady his nerves. There is no telling what sort of moves are on their way, you know.”
“You can’t frighten me,” replied Forrester. “As the matter stands it can’t progress too rapidly to please me. I’m in a hurry to get it over.”
They had stopped upon the corner of Canal Street; it was late and a haze clung about the roof tops. From the North River came the constant shriek of fog-whistles and now and then the boom of a bell; the numerous night sounds from the river front came faintly to them, for already the farm wagons were coming in, and the great markets on the lower west side were beginning to make ready for the coming dawn.
Kenyon was silent. He cautiously determined to follow the other’s lead. But Forrester did not hesitate; he went steadily on.
“We waited for you at the ‘Far East,’” continued he. “The Stalker reported that he had given you Farbush’s instructions.”
“The Stalker?” Kenyon looked at the other inquiringly.
“Of course. Didn’t he meet you as you left Selden’s Square last night?”
Kenyon’s mind went quickly back to the night before, and immediately the stealthy figure that had arisen out of the shadows recurred to him.