“Well, I think it’s the limit. Here I get all het up, thinking that at last I’m going to find out something definite about this mess—and you tell me you don’t know.”
“Evans thinks, I guess, that it’s less dangerous for us not to know. He’s a pretty good egg.”
Bill frowned, then began to chuckle. “Sanders offered me a couple of million or so, if I’d go in with him. Can you beat that? So whatever the blooming loot is, it’s worth money!”
“Looks like it. But let me finish. I was just starting to talk to Deb over the private line in the other room, when you came butting in and I had to ring off. You may not know it, but I’m rather anxious to finish that conversation.”
“Oh, go to the phone now, if you must,” said Bill resignedly. “I’ll wait.”
“No, I’ll get this off my chest first. You’re in almost as much of a sweat as old Evans was at breakfast this morning. He wouldn’t talk while the waitress was in the room, so things were a bit jerky. But when we’d finished eating, and one of your cars was waiting to run him down to Stamford, he told me about Sanders. Then he described this place, told me how to get into it through the sub-cellar, and where the short-line phone to the island was hidden. He suggested that Parker take some sleep, and then fly me up here so I could keep an eye on Deborah. To finish the story, Parker and I took turns flying the bus, and here I am.”
“Did Mr. Evans say what I was supposed to be doing?” inquired Bill. “He left while Charlie and I were asleep. I’ve had no instructions.”
“Yes, he wants you to keep careful watch on the Sanders crowd, so you can locate what they’re trying to steal.”
“Huh! A nice, soft job that! How am I going to find something when I don’t know what it is? The man’s got bats in his belfry!”
“Well, I don’t know—but that’s what he said. By the way, where’s Charlie—upstairs?”