Back in their rooms, Val and Eddie sat down to talk it over. The lightness had, momentarily, dropped from him as one drops a cape from his shoulders, and he was conscious, again, of defeat. He had had the book in his hands—and had lost it again. He felt sure that the secret was in the Bible; not that the money meant anything to him, but the achievement of his purpose meant a great deal.
Suddenly, he was irritated with the whole business; with the Hotel Chamberlin, the Pomeroy property, himself, the money, Eddie. He gave voice to his irritation audibly.
“For heaven’s sake, Eddie—don’t you know enough to take off your hat in the house?” he asked harshly. “That lid—why do men wear derbies, anyway?” He looked at the offending hat irritably.
“Yes, sir,” replied Eddie. “There are lots of reasons for wearing derbies, sir,” he said. “Of course, begging your pardon and meaning no disrespect, the primary reason is to cover the bean, if I may say so. That being the case, you would naturally remark that it could be done without so much waste space. But⸺”
“Are you trying to kid me, Eddie?” demanded Val. “Because, if you are⸺”
“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Eddie. “How can you think such a thing—as though I would be so disrespectful!
