Nixon showed up promptly at the appointed time. He was a heavy-set man with a red face and big black moustache. He wore a sweeping fur overcoat, and, when he drew off his gloves, a big seal-ring with diamond settings was visible upon the little finger of his right hand. Mr. Schofield greeted him courteously, invited him to take off his overcoat and sit down, and then stepped to the door.
“Bob,” he called to his office boy, “ask Mr. Plumfield and Mr. West to step this way at once, will you?”
Nixon, who had thrown his overcoat across a chair and got out a big black cigar, paused with it halfway to his lips.
“Not calling the company for me, are you?” he asked.
“Why, yes,” said the superintendent, quietly. “You’ve come about the Bassett business, haven’t you?”
Nixon nodded.
“Well, Mr. Plumfield is the one with whom Bassett had the trouble. I thought you’d like to hear his story.”
“Oh, all right,” said Nixon, sitting down and lighting his cigar. “Only I know the story already.”
“Maybe you’ve only heard one side of it,” suggested Mr. Schofield, smiling.
“Well, maybe I have,” assented Nixon, and when Mr. Plumfield and Allan entered, he greeted them with a fair degree of cordiality.