“Oh, I know you’ve got that all fixed, Jimmy,” retorted Simmonds. “I expected that—I knew you’d think of that, right away. Who’ll swear to it? Magraw?”
Jimmy’s face was growing flushed; his temper was getting the better of him, which, perhaps, was just what Simmonds wanted.
“Magraw got a share of that last deal, didn’t he?” he continued imperturbably. “Naturally, he’s grateful. But you ought to have waited a little, Jimmy-you really ought. When was it you got, back?”
“Yesterday,” answered Jimmy sullenly. He evidently realised the danger of losing his temper and managed to control himself.
“And after an absence of two years! Come, Jimmy,” pursued Simmonds persuasively, “what did you do it for? Was it a plant?”
Jimmy relieved his feelings by some vigorous swearing.
“I didn’t do it, and you know it!” he shouted. “You know it! Only you’ve got t’ do somethin’—you’ve got t’ make a showin’ so’s th’ people ’ll think they’re gittin’ somethin’ fer their money when th’ papers puff you. I know th’ game! Oh, come,” and he stopped himself abruptly. “What’s th’ use? Are you goin’ t’ lock me up?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” said Simmonds regretfully.
“Then, for God’s sake, do it. When’s this identification-long-lost-orphan scene goin’ t’ take place?”
“To-morrow afternoon at two o’clock. Don’t you feel a little nervous about it, Jimmy?”
