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Johnny Byng does; and Kovak, too he owes Bryson thirty thousand. But I organized the scheme." Hawkes was pleading now. "Alan, I'm bored. Deadly bored. Gambling isn't gambling for me; I'm too good. I never lose except when I want to. So I need to get my kicks someplace else. This is it. But it won't come off without you." They were silent for a moment.
The computer considered Jesperson's plea a few moments, reviewing the brief which the lawyer had taped and fed to the computer earlier. Time passed. Then the green panel lit, and the words, APPLICATION GRANTED. Alan smiled. Bryson had been defeated; Max's money was his. Money that could be turned toward intensified research on the hyperdrive. "Well, son?" Jesperson asked.
A Bryson man did show up at the hearing a slick-looking operator named Berwin. His claim was that Hawkes had been affiliated with Bryson a number of years ago, and that Hawkes' money should revert to Bryson by virtue of an obscure law of the last century involving the estates of professional gamblers killed in criminal actions.
Heart failure, the report said. Bryson has some good drugs. Say, kid any word yet on what's going to happen to all Max's dough?" Alan thought a moment before replying. "I haven't heard a thing. I guess the government inherits it." "That would be too bad," Hollis said speculatively. "Max was well loaded. I'd like to get my hands into some of that dough myself.
They reached the house of Mr. Bryson. He sat over his eight-o'clock cup of tea, with a very gloomy face. He had known Sir Everard all his life he had known his beautiful bride, so passionately beloved. He had bidden the doomed baronet a last farewell that afternoon. "He never did it," said he to himself. "There is a horrible mystery somewhere.
"Why, Bobby Gillian, there's only one logical thing you could do. You can go buy Miss Lotta Lauriere a diamond pendant with the money, and then take yourself off to Idaho and inflict your presence upon a ranch. I advise a sheep ranch, as I have a particular dislike for sheep." "Thanks," said Gillian, rising, "I thought I could depend upon you, Old Bryson. You've hit on the very scheme.
Alan shook hands with him, and then felt like wiping off his hand. Hollis came to see them often. Another frequent visitor was Mike Kovak of the Bryson Syndicate a sharp-looking businessman type in ultra-modern suits, who spoke clearly and well and whose specialty was forgery.
A minute later and they were flying, swift as lash and shout could urge them, toward Worrel Jail. Earlier in the evening, when Harriet had told her story to Mr. Bryson, that gentleman had proceeded at once to the prison to inform the prisoner and the officials that the murdered lady was alive.
"I am the only left-handed man in the traffic department, but the man that handles the rebates, Jimmie Black, is cross-eyed. Bucks offered to send him to Chicago to have Bryson straighten his eyes, but Jimmie thinks it is better to have them as they are for the present, so he can look at a thing in two different ways one for the Interstate Commerce Commission and one for himself.
That is, part of it goes to the man who invents a new bacillus and the rest to establish a hospital for doing away with it again. There are one or two trifling bequests on the side. The butler and the housekeeper get a seal ring and $10 each. His nephew gets $1,000." "You've always had plenty of money to spend," observed Old Bryson. "Tons," said Gillian.
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