The gentleman sitting at the desk in the darkened office leaned back in his chair as he picked up the receiver of the phone. The only light in the room, coming from the street lamps outside, revealed a fashionably furnished place, though intimating that days had once been better. The man sat in shadows; his hair occasionally caught a ray of light, revealing substantial streaks of silver gray.
“I was just on my way out,” he said into the phone in a low, hard tone.
He paused to listen to the voice on the other end of the line.
“Is that so . . . ?” he replied to the unseen voice, drawing out his words thoughtfully. “Inquiring about Stonewycke, you say?”
More listening.
“A treasure . . . then the rumors we heard are true . . . ?”
He leaned forward, grabbed a pencil, and drew a pad toward him.
“What was the name . . . ? Macintyre . . . from London, you say . . . ? No, no, don’t do anything just yet. We don’t want to scare him off. I’ll make some inquiries here. For now we’ll let him do the footwork for us. But don’t let him out of your sight.”
Another pause followed.
The man rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well, you do the same. Just remember, it’s a sleepy little burg. Make sure he gets off at Strathy; then you go on to the next town and double back. I want no one to know of our interest in the matter. Report back to me regularly.”
Another question interrupted him. After a brief pause he resumed: “Use that code we used in the last project we worked on together. Is that all, Sprague? All right. Just be sure he doesn’t get on to you.”
Without another word he replaced the receiver.
Notwithstanding the periodic raising of his eyebrows during the course of the conversation, if he was in any way excited over the prospects raised by the phone call, he did not show it. Instead, he continued to sit at his desk, absently tapping his pencil against the solid walnut top.
In fact, though his surface appearance seemed perfectly nonchalant, inside he was more than enthusiastic over this turn of events. He had been looking for just such a break. At this point he had no idea where it might lead, but he felt certain that he would somehow be able to use these tidings to his advantage. He had carried out some research of his own through the years and had heard a local legend about some ancient horde from the Pict era over a thousand years ago supposedly connected with the Stonewycke property. Intriguing though it was, he had always considered it nothing but a straw in the dark. Perhaps he had been wrong. A fellow from London asking about a treasure, then heading north by train—certainly bore looking into!
He picked up the phone receiver once more, hastily looked for a number in the card file on his desk, gave the operator the city and number, then sat back to wait. After about a minute he sat forward attentively.
“Hello,” he said, in a different voice this time. “Yes, yes—it’s me . . . I know, it’s been a long time . . .”
He tapped the pencil impatiently while he listened for another minute to the man he had called.
“I—I certainly will,” he said, finally getting a word in. “But perhaps until then, you might help me out . . . No, no!” he laughed, “I only want a bit of information. Yes . . . Do you know of a young fellow by the name of Macintyre, early twenties, I’d say, likes to hang around where there’s some action in the back room, if you know what I mean?”
The voice on the line rambled on again for some time, with an occasional question or comment interspersed on the part of the listener.
“A sharp . . . can’t say as I’m surprised . . .”
More listening.
“ . . . a bookie? . . . oh, an old counterfeiter. Hmmm . . .”
All at once the gentleman’s impatience with his talkative informant changed to rapt interest. “He did what?” he exclaimed. “To Chase Morgan . . . !”
After another pause the man chuckled, the first crack in his otherwise steely demeanor. “It’s a good thing Morgan can afford clever lawyers. Three months in jail isn’t much, but for a man like Chase it’s enough. I should think he’d want Macintyre! . . . How much? . . . I’m sure some low-life goon will take him up on his offer and try to collect, if Morgan doesn’t find him first . . . My interest? A different matter altogether. A friend of mine was making inquiries—didn’t think he was on the up-and-up, but the deal he offered sounded too good to pass up . . . Yes, you’re right there,” he laughed. “Morgan should have been as smart. Certainly, I’ll come by next week . . . Thanks for your assistance.”
The thing was becoming more fascinating by the moment, thought the man as he hung up the phone. A confidence man like this Macintyre was bound to be up to something . . . something shady, no doubt! It was lucky for him his man in Glasgow had stumbled into the middle of it. Well, stumbled was not exactly the right word, he reflected further. After all, Sprague had been hired for the express purpose of gathering information. And he had definitely hit the jackpot in Glasgow!