"I'm Hannigan," he announced briefly. "I know you're Old Jimmie
Carlisle's girl. The Duchess told me you wanted me on something big.
What's the idea?"
"You want to get Larry Brainard, don't you?--or whoever it was that
squealed on you?"
There was a momentary gleam in the hard, gray eyes. "I do."
"That's why you're here. In a little over an hour, if you stay quiet
in the background, you'll have what you want."
"You've got a swell-looking lay-out here. What's going to be pulled
off?"
"It's not what I might tell you that's going to help you. It's what
you hear and see."
"All right," said the thin-lipped man. "I'll pass the questions, since
the Duchess told me to do as you said. She's square, even if she does
have a grandson who's a stool. I suppose I'm to be out of sight during
whatever happens?"
"Yes."
In the room there were two spacious closets, as is not infrequent in
the better class of modern hotels; and it had been these two closets
which had been the practical starting-point of Maggie's development of
Dick Sherwood's proposition. To one of these she led Hannigan.
"You'll be out of sight here, and you'll get every word."
He stepped inside, and she closed the door. Also she took the
precaution of locking it. She wished Hannigan to hear, but she wished
no such contretemps as Hannigan bursting forth and spoiling her play
when it had reached only the middle of its necessary action.
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