It--it would be too hard to
dispose of."
"I'm not worrying," declared Markel importantly.
"No," said Jimmie Dale. "Two hundred and ten thousand, you said.
Any special--er--significance to the occasion, if the question's not
impertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversary--or something like that?"
"No, nothing like that!" Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbed
his hands together. "I'm feeling good, that's all--I'm going to make the
killing of my life to-morrow."
"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale.
Markel turned to Carruthers. "I'll let you in on that, too, Carruthers,
in a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around--financial man, you
know. It'll be worth your while. And now, how about this? What do you
say to a little article and the photos next Sunday?"
There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
"If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be able
to use them," he said brusquely.
"Right!" said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulder
patronisingly again. "I'll just do that little thing." He picked up the
necklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under the light,
then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the case to his
pocket. "Thanks awfully, Carruthers," he said, as he rose from his
chair. "See you again, Dale. Good-night!"
Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
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