Barney wiped the perspiration of haste from his forehead with his coat cuff. “We roped him at the Beaumont. He ’d been buyin’ them long cigars.”
“Well, the old devil!” He sat with the satchel on his lap, expressing a profane admiration to it in a sort of dumbfounded undertone. “The damn old fox! How did he think of that!”
“Search me!” Barney grinned.
A clerk came in with the keys. Snider had the bag opened in a jiffy. He dumped its contents on the desk—blue-prints, catalogues, a scratch block, loose sheets of memoranda, an assortment of blank checks, and a roll of money in a rubber band. “The old man’s wad!” Snider exulted. “By G he’s got the swag back too! Where is he?”
“He ’s off with Palmer. He ’s goin’ to ’phone you. He tol’ me to grab the bag an’ beat it. That boob was tryin’ to sell him stock in some fake hotel he ’s buildin’ some’rs, when I dropped off.”
