But when, a few moments later, Burke, receiving permission, had told Corey his news, he had been for a moment afraid that the balance had turned—and in the wrong way. Corey had seemed hardly to comprehend, and then a sudden unaccountable change had come over his face.
“The Medaille!” he gasped. “What time did you say?”
“Eleven,” Burke told him—“three hours from now.”
He seemed then to be considering something deep within himself, so that Burke hardly heard when he said, “That’s time enough.” And Burke, thinking that he had been measuring his strength against the time, hastened a little awkwardly to reassure him. But Corey, ignoring his assurance, had seemed to arrive at some secret conclusion.
“Did you put down the name?” he asked.
Burke had forgotten the name, and Corey told him again, patiently, spelling out the address. He watched while Burke wrote.
“The papers all go to him.” He was silent a moment. Then: “Listen,” he said. “Will you give him this message for me?”
Burke promised, whatever he wished, word for word.
“Tell him,” he said, “that it breaks a man’s luck to know what he wants.”
“Yes,” said Burke. “Is there anything else?”