“Whether we've done anything, or whether we haven't, don't matter,” he objected. “Once the police set out after you, they'll get you. Russia ain't in it with some of the things I have seen pulled off in this town.”
“Oh, can that 'fraid talk!” Aggie exclaimed, roughly. “I tell you they can't get us. We've got our fingers crossed.”
She would have said more, but a noise at the hall door interrupted her, and she looked up to see a man in the opening, while behind him appeared the maid, protesting angrily.
“Never mind that announcing thing with me,” the newcomer rasped to the expostulating servant, in a voice that suited well his thick-set figure, with the bullet-shaped head and the bull-like neck. Then he turned to the two in the drawing-room, both of whom had now risen to their feet.
“It's all right, Fannie,” Aggie said hastily to the flustered maid. “You can go.”
As the servant, after an indignant toss of the head, departed along the passage, the visitor clumped heavily forward and stopped in the center of the room, looking first at one and then the other of the two with a smile that was not pleasant. He was not at pains to remove the derby hat which he wore rather far back on his head. By this single sign, one might have recognized Cassidy, who had had Mary Turner in his charge on the occasion of her ill-fated visit to Edward Gilder's office, four years before, though now the man had thickened somewhat, and his ruddy face was grown even coarser.
“Hello, Joe!” he cried, familiarly. “Hello, Aggie!”
The light-gray eyes of the forger had narrowed perceptibly as he recognized the identity of the unceremonious caller, while the lines of his firmly set mouth took on an added fixity.
“Well?” he demanded. His voice was emotionless.
“Just a little friendly call,” Cassidy announced, in his strident voice. “Where's the lady of the house?”