"Not so you could notice."
"That was the point that worried me. If he had had an idea what that letter contained, or that Jurgens and I were mixed up with it, he'd have been with Townsend hours ago, and the whole game would have been queered."
"And your Uncle Joe pinched. That gives me a good, swift notion that I've taken some chances and ought to have a pretty square look-in on the divvy. How much do I pull down?"
"You'll pull down a-plenty, Dash."
"Put it in cold figures. You see, I don't like these glittering generalities."
"We can't any of us tell how much we get till we see how much there is."
"It ought to be ten thou, at least. Townsend said there were enough sparks in the bag to make Tiffany's exhibit look like a piker. Ten thou will buy me an interest in a racing stable, and I'm dippy about the ponies. It's an even-money break that——"
"Stow it! Here we are at the car."
At that moment, Whistler and Dashington came out on the cross street. An automobile was drawn up at the curb, and two men could be seen, one on the front seat and one in the tonneau. The man behind proved to be Bangs, and the man at the wheel was Jurgens. Both were in their shirt sleeves, and Bangs' coat was lying over the side of the car.
"Oh, ho!" gurgled Dashington, "so it's a benzine buggy for ours, eh? It's a fancy pass and ought to snatch us away before the police get busy."