“You've got a swell-looking lay-out here. What's going to be pulled off?”
“It's not what I might tell you that's going to help you. It's what you hear and see.”
“All right,” said the thin-lipped man. “I'll pass the questions, since the Duchess told me to do as you said. She's square, even if she does have a grandson who's a stool. I suppose I'm to be out of sight during whatever happens?”
“Yes.”
In the room there were two spacious closets, as is not infrequent in the better class of modern hotels; and it had been these two closets which had been the practical starting-point of Maggie's development of Dick Sherwood's proposition. To one of these she led Hannigan.
“You'll be out of sight here, and you'll get every word.”
He stepped inside, and she closed the door. Also she took the precaution of locking it. She wished Hannigan to hear, but she wished no such contretemps as Hannigan bursting forth and spoiling her play when it had reached only the middle of its necessary action.
Barlow came promptly at half-past eight. He brought news which for a few moments almost completely upset Maggie's delicately balanced structure.
“I know who you are now,” he said brusquely. “And part of your game's cold before you start.”
“Why?—What part?”