"Pardon my intrusion. I—" rather embarrassed at the steady gaze—"I am Mr. Floyd Grandon."
"Ah!" There is something akin to a sneer in the exclamation. "Doubtless your brother has spoken of me,—Jasper Wilmarth."
This, then, is his father's partner. He is utterly amazed, bewildered.
"I heard of your return," he continues. There is something peculiar, as if the man weighed every word. "We have been looking for you," rather dryly.
"I hope my delay has not proved injurious to the business," says Grandon, recovering his usual dignity. "I find that I am executor of the estate with my mother, and I suppose some steps are necessary. I shall qualify immediately. In what condition is the business?"
"Bad enough," is the reply. "Trade is dull, and I am sorry to say that our new machinery, put in at a great expense, does not work satisfactorily."
Floyd is startled at the frankness, as well as the admission.
"Where is the other partner, Mr. St. Vincent?"
"Out of town somewhere," indifferently.
"He holds the patent——"