"Not another word, my dear. Talking is a dry game. After all, drinking is the king of indoor sports. Come on down and rig a bit of fizz." But Violet did not join in this predatory expedition. She forgot the plight of the new captive whose cries she had heard; she forgot even the details of Evelyn's just-related case; she remembered only so much of the general situation, now made clear to her, as bore upon her own position, and she came at last to a pitch of crafty courage that was far more promising of success than any of the hysterical determinations that she had previously experienced. Open revolt was futile; she would employ methods more circuitous, and would use whatever weapons were at hand. It was, as Evelyn had said, a house of spies and eavesdroppers, and, at the next opportunity--which occurred that night--Violet sought again her secret place of vantage on the back stairs, and listened again to her jailer in conversation with the Italian. Her time, as it chanced, was brief, but she heard enough to know that Wesley Dyker was the subject of the conference, and that betrayal of some sort was its intent. "Nothin' much," Rose was saying, in apparent answer to some question asked before the spy had taken up her breathless post in the darkened stairway. "I'll get more out of him later on." "Yas," replied Angel, "but how mooch?" "He said he thought he'd pull it off, all right, but wasn't sure of O'Malley. Said he'd got a bunch of kind words from up top, but was scared for fear O'Malley would knife him. He's a pretty wise guy for all he's a swell, and he's lookin' out for the double-cross from your crowd." "He ast you to helpa keepa lookout?" "Sure he did. Said if O'Malley's man put up a bluff at runnin' independent, I was to tip him off when O'Malley began registering votes here." "That isa good. More?" "Some. Said he wanted me to keep my ears wide for any news. Wanted me to pump you." "He deed?" The voice grew threatening. "Say, now, you tella me why he knaw you knawa me?" "I guess he has as good ears as most people." "But how he knawa me an' you----" "He don't know that, Angel. Keep your hair on. He don't know nothin' about it. If he did, do you think he'd stand for it, an' cough up all these here straight tips to me?" "Na-aw," the Italian drawlingly admitted, in slow mollification. "Naw, maybe he woulda not." "He certainly wouldn't. He don't know nothin' about it. What he's afraid of is that somebody might think _he_ stood in too good here." "He say that?" "Yep." "Alla right. Now, you tella him when he comes again, O'Malley means----" The voice dropped to so low a whisper that Violet could hear no more, and, before it was raised, the doorbell had sounded and she had heard Celeste, upstairs, calling her. She tiptoed back to the upper hallway. "Cassie say you' New York Central frien' ees askin' for you," volunteered the French girl as they met.