Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/160

 "Well?" the titanlike visitor draped in black once more demanded. He seemed to show no undue haste, no exceptional interest as he stood there with his great shoulders hunched impassively up. Between his fingers, strangely enough, he held one of his thick-bellied, short Hondurian cigars, as yet unlighted. He made a picture of guarded and judicial unconcern, a picture so complete that McKinnon stopped for a moment to admire it in secret. And every second that passed was a second gained. But the limit of delay had already been reached.

"You said you wanted to look over anything special that came in," began the operator, laying down his phones.

The Columbinelike giant in pajamas nodded his head.

"I've got news, big news," McKinnon confessed. "Yet it's not exactly about Ganley."

He could see the other man's eye-flash of impatience, but still the attitude of wary unconcern was not relaxed.

"Well?" was all Ganley ventured.

The man at the table, as he tore the written sheet from his form-pad, knew that he was being closely and keenly watched. This prompted him to toy with the situation for another moment or two, for he had his own watching to do.