I could not blame Mrs. Ferris for not wishing to enter the Club just yet. She had left us at the door, promising to send the car back for our disposal.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE VACUUM BOTTLE
Fortunately, Dean Allison was at the Club, as we hoped, having just arrived by the train that left New York at the close of the banking day. Someone told us, however, that Wyndham had probably decided to remain in town over night.
Allison was perhaps a little older than I had imagined, rather a grave young man who seemed to take his club responsibilities on the Council very seriously.
"I'd like to talk to you about this Evans case," began Craig when we had been introduced.
"Glad to tell you all I know," he responded cordially. "It isn't much, I'm afraid. It's terrible—terrible. We don't know what to think. My sister is all broken up by it, poor girl."
He led the way over to a corner, in a sort of bow window, and we sat down on the hard leather cushions.
"No, there isn't much I can say," he resumed. "You see, one of the recreations of the younger set at the Club is boxing—that's about all there was to it—not the amateurish thing one usually sees, but real scientific boxing.