“No! I’ve telegraphed to him—this morning. The answer should be here at any moment! That should be sufficient.”
He looked at his watch.
Peter selected a cigarette—then handed his case to Linnell.
“Thanks! I don’t mind if I do.”
Before Peter had had time to take his eyes from the match with which he lit his companion’s cigarette——there was a tap at the door—Plunkett entered. Linnell tore open the telegram that was handed to him. Then he smiled. Peter looked over his shoulder. Then he smiled in his turn, and read aloud what he saw.
“Say! What the hell’s biting you—when I say Buy—then Buy. Got that? Stewart.”
That was the intelligent rendering of the message. A message which looked and sounded even cruder and terser in the unpunctuated word-arrangement of telegrams.
Linnell’s smile developed into a ringing laugh. “I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, after all, Peter. Still—one can’t be too careful. You’ll go along then on Friday and——”
Plunkett reappeared in the doorway. “Another telegram, sir.” Linnell looked surprised. Then read the second message.
“Say—you don’t look before you leap—you take a magnifying glass. Same name as before.”