The telephone at the desk rang, and Mary spoke into it for a moment, then rose and excused herself to resume the conversation over the wire more privately in the booth. The instant she was out of the room, Griggs turned to Garson anxiously.
“It's a cinch, Joe,” he pleaded. “I've got a plan of the house.” He drew a paper from his breast-pocket, and handed it to the forger, who seized it avidly and studied it with intent, avaricious eyes.
“It looks easy,” Garson agreed, as he gave back the paper.
“It is easy,” Griggs reiterated. “What do you say?”
Garson shook his head in refusal, but there was no conviction in the act.
“I promised Mary never to——”
Griggs broke in on him.
“But a chance like this! Anyhow, come around to the back room at Blinkey's to-night, and we'll have a talk. Will you?”
“What time?” Garson asked hesitatingly, tempted.
“Make it early, say nine,” was the answer. “Will you?”