“Well, you can’t. Who says you could get it from him?”
“Young friend of yours—Tobias or something like that.”
“Toby Smith, huh? Well, he can’t sell it because I can’t turn it over to him. Only saw it in the Buddha’s head, and in a man’s hand. Maybe Toby already has it. Let’s go ask him.”
“Can’t waste time. What’s your best price?”
“Well——” Roger had an idea. “You leave your card and I’ll get in touch with you.”
“I won’t go higher than ninety thousand. If that suits, call up Clark, on Fifth Avenue, and say you are ready to close. He will understand, and will arrange everything. Good day.”
Brusquely, abruptly, the man left. Roger let him go.
But when the limousine had drawn away, Roger marked down its license number, and within five minutes, from the Bureau of Motor Vehicle Licenses he had information.
That license plate on the limousine belonged to a wealthy man, often mentioned in financial news. Roger, from a book of “Who’s Who” learned more; he was a collector, among other things.
But, Roger asked himself, was his wealth, position and hobby any reason not to place his name among those suspected, or at least connected with the Eye of Om mystery?