"See you to-night." They accepted his departure in silence, and one and all favoured Mr.
Sabin with a stare of blatant curiosity.
"I should be glad to speak with you," Mr.Sabin said, "in a place where we are likely to be neither disturbed nor overheard." "You come right across to my office," was the prompt reply.

"I guess we can fix it up there." Mr.Sabin motioned to his coachman, and they crossed Broadway.

His companion led him into a tall building, talking noisily all the time about the pals whom he had just left.

An elevator transported them to the twelfth floor in little more than as many seconds, and Mr.Skinner ushered his visitor into a somewhat bare-looking office, smelling strongly of stale tobacco smoke.

Mr.Skinner at once lit a cigar, and seating himself before his desk, folded his arms and leaned over towards Mr.Sabin.
"Smoke one ?" he asked, pointing to the open box.
Mr.Sabin declined.
"Get right ahead then." "I am an Englishman," Mr.Sabin said slowly, "and consequently am not altogether at home with your ways over here.