“Won’t we, though!” said Graham, smiling. “They are gold, and there is an inscription on each; that means a fancy reward, or I don’t know human feminine nature. Two brooches, a necklace—h’m—h’m—very good, indeed.”
“There was no money,” remarked Harry, adjusting his necktie before the mirror, and giving his small blonde mustache a curl.
“I expected as much,” commented Graham, storing away the trinkets in his pockets. “Braithwait has a hundred with him, I dare say, but it isn’t worth the risk. If we kill a man in the city it’s soon forgotten, but in the suburbs it creates a regular panic. The neighbors hire detectives and follow a man all over creation, and you can’t buy them off or compromise the matter—money is no object. That’s why I keep telling Jim—”
“Let up, will ye!” exclaimed Baxter, roughly. “I ain’t killin’ nobody, am I?”
“Certainly not; but I only say——”
“I AIN’T NO MISSIONARY!”
“Say nothin’! where’s the feed box?”
Mr. Graham groaned, and looked at his young accomplice in comical alarm.