Free The Early Ayn Rand by Ayn Rand

fixedly for some moments, as though thinking it over. “He suspects!” I trembled. But he said, rather indifferently:
    “Well, see to it that you have a more decent appearance by the day of our departure, and have some false teeth put in—it doesn’t look proper.”
    He sent me to a dentist, and forgot about this episode, and I felt an immense relief. But I made up my mind that someday I’d make Mickey Finnegan pay dearly for it.
    In the days that preceded our departure I watched Winton Stokes like a police-dog that trails a crook. I watched his every movement. There wasn’t a place where I didn’t manage to follow him, and watch. I didn’t sleep nights. I hoped to see him take the Night King out of its mysterious hiding-place and see where he was going to put it for the trip. I didn’t see a thing. I didn’t get the slightest clue. I didn’t see him make one move that could be connected with the diamond, or that even looked suspicious.
    And so, the day of our departure came and we started on our trip, just Winton Stokes, me, and a little suitcase of his. He didn’t take any other baggage.
    Now, I knew that he had the Night King with him somewhere. He would never disappoint a lady and he would take the stone to her in spite of all danger. Besides, it was just the kind of thing he would enjoy doing.
    But what got me mad was his utter, perfect calm. He was just as serene as a summer morning; not the slightest shade of worry or preoccupation. And just as we were leaving the house, I remarked that he had left behind the automatic he always carried.
    “I won’t need it,” he said, “not on this trip.”
    Not on this trip!
    When we found ourselves in the luxurious express flying westward, Winton Stokes sat by a window, calm and indifferent, his head thrown back and his eyes half closed. And I, Steve Hawkins, fidgeted nervously in my corner, biting my dry lips and looking anxiously around.
    My big moment was approaching. Two years of my life! I thought of the financial loss I had suffered by being out of business for such a long time. The Night King would make up for it all. I had a customer all ready and it takes my breath away when I think of the sum he had offered me for it.
    I looked over the car and watched the passengers. I was afraid there might be some detective around, hired by Stokes for protection. But there didn’t seem to be any. My heart was beating fast and I was as nervous as an author on his play’s first night. Winton Stokes was immobile, like an inscrutable Oriental idol.
    All of a sudden I jumped in my seat and stuck both my gloves into my mouth to stifle a cry. In a far corner I noticed a gentleman who seemed to be slumbering in his seat, his head hanging down on his breast and a fly walking across his red, moist forehead. That gentleman had a dirty shirt-collar, a brand new suit that didn’t fit, fat legs squeezing out of patent-leather shoes, and all the appearance of one who isn’t used to decent clothes. His mouth was chewing slowly and heavily. It was Mickey Finnegan.
    What was he doing here? What was he going to do? Would he betray me, or try to pull the job for himself? For the first time it occurred to me he knew the secret of the Night King’s trip and might wish to try his own luck at it.
    I felt cold in my spine. But there was nothing I could do, except watch Mickey carefully and hope that he wouldn’t have time to act before I did. After a while I was a little reassured: I decided that a master-mind like me didn’t have to fear the rivalry of that brainless boob. Besides, Mickey didn’t seem to have any accomplices around and he looked dead tired and sleepy.
    I could hardly wait for night to come. The hours just dragged forever. The speeding strokes of car-wheels on the rails sounded like a slow funeral march to me. But everything comes to him who waits.
    It was near midnight. Winton Stokes was still sitting in the day coach. He always went to sleep very late and I had counted