Gilead, courteous and quiet as ever, failed nevertheless to conceal from the astute officer some evidences of suppressed excitement in his demeanour. There was a suggestion in his face of a subdued self-satisfaction, of a conscious victoriousness, as it were, which both impressed and tickled the Superintendent.
“Well, Mr Balm,” he said, “you’ve pulled it off single-handed this time, and no mistake.”
Gilead, taking the chair offered him, with an expression in which astonishment and a certain twinkling sobriety fought for mastery, asked “Pulled what off?”
“I haven’t a notion,” said the Superintendent.
Gilead stared a moment and then laughed.
“What! Is my manner such an index?” he said. “Well, I confess I am just a little elated—or conceited. Please to read that, Ingram.”
The Superintendent accepted and examined the page of the Daily Post offered him.
“The marked ‘ad’?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve read it, sir.”