He reached for the telephone and called for McRae’s number.
“Hello, Mac,” he said, as a voice came to him from the other end of the wire. “This is Matson speaking. Oh, it’s feeling all right now, thanks. Guess I’ll be in shape for my next turn in the box. Listen, Mac. Did you get any dope on those fellows, Harrish and Tompkinson? Did, eh? Good. Let’s have it.”
He was silent for a minute or two, listening intently.
“Thanks, Mac,” he said at last. “Just about as I thought. No, they haven’t been bothering me. Guess they don’t want any more of my game. I want these pointers for a friend of mine. Will tell you all about it to-morrow. Good-by.”
He hung up the receiver and turned to his friends.
“Harrish is a pretty slick proposition,” he said. “O’Brien at headquarters has been looking him up for McRae. Came here from Chicago. Had been indicted there for a shady deal, but the indictment was quashed. Been under suspicion here in connection with some queer transactions, but they haven’t been able to get anything definite on him. Foxy, and has managed to keep out of the clutches of the law since he’s been in New York.”
“That doesn’t make anything look better for me, does it?” said Reggie dismally.
“No, it doesn’t,” admitted Joe. “How did you come to get mixed up with him anyway?”
“Just a chance acquaintance picked up in a hotel lobby,” explained Reggie. “He got to talking about the easy money to be made in Wall Street and asked me to drop in at his office.”