Morse nodded and wrote swiftly. He extended to Tommy a check for
seventy-five thousand dollars payable to Thomas M. Braden and drawn
upon the Loop National Bank of Chicago. "I didn't mean to give any
offense, Braden. Of course you understand what I thought--that is,
other folks were saying----"
"Quite all right, Morse; that's perfectly all right. I have really been
exceedingly annoyed by this silly idea that Braden is not my name." He
folded the check and slipped it casually in his pocket. "By the way,
are we golfing in the morning? I was hitting them mighty cleanly in
practice to-day."
Alone in his room again Tommy inspected the check. Veteran though he
was, his heart was pounding. He had played cunningly for big stakes
and had won a well-deserved victory. There remained nothing for him to
do but pack up and get away; then to convert Morse's check into cash
and disappear. He decided upon a European trip; Paris had not known
him for several years and he longed for the sensuous pleasures of the
Boulevards.... He ripped open the drawers of his dresser and the doors
of his chifforobe: the task of packing promised to make up in speed
what it may have lacked in neatness.
Of course he knew that he must manage his going away carefully. Morse
must not know that he was hastening his departure ... he'd carry one
suitcase and send back for the trunks the next day, or else eliminate
them from his scheme of things. The important task was to place a
maximum of distance between himself and his victims in a minimum of
time. He worked feverishly at his packing, pausing occasionally to
glance at the check which had recently been handed him. He was a trifle
sorry for the Morses, but, he figured that they could well afford to
lose the money ... nor would it prove a loss unless by some mischance
the pearls should be recognized and there seemed little likelihood
of that. Certainly the Morses did not move on a social plane where
they were likely to meet persons familiar with the Vanduyn pearls.
They might, of course, boast that they had purchased the pearls from
Jared Mallory and news of this might reach that gentleman which, in
all probability, would start something. But, in so far as Tommy could
figure, no one was suffering through the transaction. What injury had
been inflicted upon the Vanduyns had been done long ago.
It was a pleasing philosophy and Tommy Braden felt quite virtuous. He
scarcely heard the light rap on the door. Only when the rapping became
insistent did he open.
Jim Hanvey waddled into the room. He wore a suit which he fancied was a
tweed. It hung loosely about his ungainly figure. The golden toothpick
was very much in evidence. Jim blinked slowly--"Gosh! Tommy, you ain't
going away, are you?"
Mr. Braden was flustered. He had a premonition of disaster. If only he
could hold Jim off for a brief span of time.... "Just running up to
Chicago for a few days, Jim. Coming right back. Merely carrying one
bag."
"Awful swell diggings, Tommy. How much do they sting you for this soot?"
"Plenty, Jim, plenty. Say, how about trotting up to Chi with me for a
day or so?"
"Naw! Can't stir, Son. I've got to stick around here another day or so
if it kills me. How long you planning to be gone?"
"Oh! two or three days at the most."
"No special business or nothing like that, is there, Tommy?"
Tommy flushed. He had a disturbing presentiment that there was a menace
cloaked beneath Jim's words. "Nothing wrong, if that's what you mean,
Jim."
"Good boy. It wouldn't be wise for a guy that's as well fixed as you to
take another flyer. Of course I know there's plenty of temptation and
all that--but the game ain't worth the electric flashlight, Son--not by
a durn sight."
Braden was ill-at-ease. "Wish you'd come along with me, Jim. I hate to
travel alone."
"Sorry, Tommy."
"You'll be here when I get back, won't you?"
Jim shook his head ponderously. "Nope. Don't reckon I will. Got to hike
back to N'Yawk and turn in a report. I've been right lucky recently,
Son; right lucky."