“I ain’t in on it,” Gibbs said firmly; “they’ve no cause to fire me. But how does this Miss Cartwright come in on the job?”
“I don’t know except that she is going down to the Harringtons’ this afternoon and Taylor’s got some scheme on hand. I tell you he’s a pretty smart boy.”
“You bet he is,” Gibbs returned promptly, “and may be he’s smarter than you know. Ever hear of R. J.?”
“R. J.?” Duncan repeated. “You mean that secret service agent?”
“Yes,” Gibbs told him with an air of one knowing secret things. “They say he’s a pal of the President’s.”
“Well, what’s that to do with this?” Duncan wanted to know.
“Don’t you know who he is?”
“No,” Duncan retorted, “and neither does anyone else. Nobody but the President and the Secretary of the Treasury knows who he really is.”
Gibbs rose from his chair and patted his chest proudly. “Well, I know, too,” he declared.
Duncan laughed contemptuously. “Yes, you do, just the same as I do—that he’s the biggest man in the secret service, and that’s all you know.”