And that then, with Conniston out of it, it again would be "anybody's
game."
Wallace was talking again about unimportant nothings, Garton was
answering him in monosyllables and striving to see the way, to find
out the thing which he must do. It was plain that Conniston must be
prevented from coming to the office to-night. And when he saw the way
before him he asked, carelessly:
"You'll stay with me to-night, Bill?"
"If you got the room, Tommy." He glanced about the little room. "This
bed ain't workin'?"
"Conniston, our superintendent, will sleep there to-night. He'll be in
in an hour or so. But I've got blankets, and if you care to make a bed
on the floor, there's lots of room."
"I'll do it," laughed the sheriff, stretching his great legs far out
in front of him. "It'll do me good. I been sleepin' in a bed so many
nights runnin' lately I'll be gettin' soft."
"All right. And if you'll pardon me a minute I want to telephone my
assistant. I've just got word of some work which must be ready by
morning. Not much rest on this job, Bill."
He picked up the telephone again and called Billy Jordan.
"I wish you'd run around for a minute, Billy," he said, his tone
evincing none of the tremor which he felt in his heart. "Bring the
fifth and seventh sheets of those computations you took home with you.
Yes, the figures for the work we are to do at the spring.
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