“It’s too hot and crowded in here,” declared Connelly, rising. “Let’s get out somewhere and fix up the details.”
He dismissed his henchmen, and he and Fleming strolled down the street till they came to the Common. They chose a seat in a remote part, and began to figure out how they could carry their plan to success.
“It’s too bad that it’s too late to put the thing through to-night,” regretted Connelly. “I’d like to put him on the blink for to-morrow’s game.”
“We can’t do that of course,” replied Fleming. “But even if he wins to-morrow’s game, that will only even up the Series. There’ll have to be at least two more games played and maybe three. We’ll get him then.”
“I’ll go down and see the captain the first thing in the morning,” said Connelly. “I’m sure he’ll fall in with it all right. Then the only thing that remains to be done is to get Matson within his reach without rousing suspicion.”
“But that’s a mighty big thing,” returned Fleming doubtfully.
“What time does their train for New York leave to-morrow night?” asked Connelly.
“Somewhere between eleven and twelve, I believe,” answered Fleming.
“That’ll give us all the time we want,” declared Connelly confidently. “Now listen to me.”
“Not quite so loud,” admonished Fleming, looking around him nervously.