You won't be gone a hundred seconds. You can
leave me here that length of time. Quick, Condy; decide one way
or the other. It's getting desperate."
Condy reached for his hat.
"Give me some money, then," he said. "You won all of mine "
A few moments later he was back again and the two sat, pretending
to eat their chili peppers, their hearts in their throats, hardly
daring to raise their eyes from their plates. Condy was actually
sick with excitement, and all but tipped the seltzer bottle to the
floor when a messenger boy appeared in the outer room. The boy
and the proprietor held a conference over the counter. Then
Richard appeared between the portieres of Nottingham lace, the
telegram in his hand and the boy at his heels.
Evidently Richard knew the red-headed man, for he crossed over to
him at once with the words:
"I guess this is for you, Mr. Atkins?"
He handed him the despatch and retired. The red-headed man signed
the receipt; the boy departed. Blix and Condy heard the sound of
torn paper as the red-headed man opened the telegram.
Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, then twenty. There was a
silence. Condy dared to steal a glance at the red-headed man's
reflection in the mirror. He was studying the despatch, frowning
horribly. He put it away in his pocket, took it out again with a
fierce movement of impatience, and consulted it a second time.
His "supper Mexican" remained untasted before him; Condy and Blix
heard him breathing loud through his nose.
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