future, seeking for his next move and his reasons for it.
"It's for you!" was the quiet yet sinister answer.
"But what's the good of fool by-play like this?" protested the other, still wondering where his chance was to come in.
"Could I look over that message?" reiterated Ganley, with no trace of excitement in his voice.
The eyes of the two men met; they studied each other for a second or two of unbroken silence. Then the operator flung the sheet on the pine table before the other man. The situation allowed of no further equivocation.
"Read it, of course—if you want to!"
Ganley pounced on it, like a cat on a cornered mouse. He backed away to the door, but kept his revolver still poised in front of him while he read.
McKinnon, as he watched the gun-runner calmly restore the sheet of paper to his table, saw the chance he had at first hoped for slip past him.
"Don't you think we'd better kill that message?" Ganley suggested with a pregnant movement of his right hand.
"Why?" asked McKinnon. He was still trying to think, to gain time.
"You know why," retorted the gun-runner.
