"You have it with you?"
"Of course not. Why should I carry so much money?"
"I do." From his coat pocket, Benisette produced a roll too thick to carry
in his trousers. "This is the way I clinch my deals, Graff."
Benisette's hand tightened on the money, but there was too much of it to
encircle, even though his muscles strained themselves. Ignoring Benisette, Graff
turned to Talcott.
"I've just come from Shebley's," declared Graff. "He'll buy that chest. He
really wants it."
"You'd better get Shebley's word for it," taunted Benisette. "Why not phone
him, Talcott?"
"Shebley isn't home," admitted Graff. "He left town unexpectedly and his
servant doesn't know where he went."
Slowly, Talcott shook his head.
"No money, no sale," stated Talcott. "Sorry, Graff, but it's my rule - in
your case."
"But by tomorrow -"
"I told Benisette I would close the bids tonight."
"You must give me time!" Graff was very earnest. "It - well, it might be a
matter of life and death to me."
Benisette provided another sneer.
"Are your creditors that close on your heels, Graff?"
Margo expected Graff to challenge Benisette's taunt. Instead, Graff nearly
wilted. He darted looks across his shoulders as though expecting some of those
very creditors to appear. Then, anxiously, Graff pleaded:
"Let me use your phone, Talcott. If I can't reach Shebley, I'll try other
people. Maybe they'll believe me when I tell them this deal is worth their
while."
"Worth your while, you mean," scoffed Benisette. "Like all the deals on
which other people lose."
The sudden flush that came to Graff's face was like a reflection of
Benisette's earlier mood. Margo wondered, almost fearfully, what reaction it
would bring from Benisette, so she turned to look.
If there was hatred in Graff's glare, Benisette certainly returned it in
full measure, but with the same control that had become his policy. Round, livid
balls, in centers of white, Benisette's eyes had a cold ferocity that said:
"Beware!"
Talcott was nodding in Graff's direction. Plucking the sallow man's arm,
Talcott gestured him toward the little office. Turning suddenly, Graff started
there to make his phone calls, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Margo felt ready to collapse with relief. The strain seemed gone all at
once, now that Graff was no longer within Benisette's reach. Somehow, Margo felt
that she had just witnessed a scene wherein murder had been in the making.
Talcott, too, had noticed it, for his shoulders gave a wearied sag. Talcott,
too, was very much relieved.
The tension of those past few minutes produced an effect that Margo didn't
realize at present. Limp as a rag, the girl was too relieved to think in future
terms. That was why Margo didn't recognize that murder-in-the-making wasn't apt
to halt until it reached completion.
Margo Lane was standing on the very threshold of coming crime, without
