He tugged; the stone, rudely
squared, came away, leaving a gaping hole. Royce thrust his hand in,
searched briefly, and in a moment brought out a flat wallet clutched
tightly.
"Yours, Steve!" he said then, a quick, palpitating note of pure joy in
his cry. "Blind as I was, I put it over for you! Here's ten thousan',
Steve. An' the chance to get ol' Number Ten back."
Packard was taking the wallet proffered him. Suddenly Royce jerked it
back.
"Let me make sure again," he said hastily. "Let me be dead sure I've
made good."
He fumbled with the wallet, opened the flap, drew out the contents, a
neat pack of folded bank-notes. He counted slowly.
"Ten of 'em," he announced triumphantly as he gave the wallet over to
its proper owner.
Packard took them and they went back to the house. The rays of the
lamp met them; through the open door, back to the living-room, they
walked side by side. The table between them, they sat down. Packard
put the wallet down, spread out the ten bank-notes.
"Bill," he said, and there was a queer note in his voice, "Bill, you've
gone through hell for me. Don't I know it? And you say I'd do as much
for you? Are you sure of it, Bill?"
Royce laughed and rubbed his hands together.
"Dead sure, Stevie," he said.
Packard's eyes dropped to the table. Before him were the ten crisp
bank-notes. Each was for one dollar.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74