Page:Phantom-fingers-mearson.pdf/40

received, we should pack them in. Imagine the newspaper stuff—brave Betty Sargent, going ahead with her art in spite of everything . . . intrepid Wallace Cunningham . . . no? It’s worth a million dollars, and we're going to take a chance. We'll have the place guarded by a cordon of police, and you and a couple of other detectives can be in the wings, ready to dash out at a minute’s notice. Not so?”

“I think it’s bad business, Ike,” I said, but I was unable to budge him from his stand. And indeed, it seemed very unlikely that the happenings of last night would be repeated.

A little later I spoke to Wallace Cunningham, and he pooh-poohed my ideas. He was strong and sturdy, and he felt himself able to cope with any man’s hand, visible or invisible.

“Look here,” he said, “for years I’ve waited for a real chance on Broadway. You know how often an understudy gets a chance. Damned seldom. Well, here’s the chance of a lifetime, with the newspapers playing it up to beat the band. Why, man, it will be the making of me. And I won't be taking any real chance—with everybody on the lookout tomorrow night, it’s not likely that it will happen again—and if it does, I’m watching for it and I'll break the hand in two. Here, give me your hand. . . .”

I gave him my hand, mystified, and regretted it a moment later, for he squeezed it until I thought that