“But come, Mr. Slack,” he urged next moment. “We’re wasting time, and I have yet some things to attend to before I catch the train east. What answer do I send from you to J.C.X. regarding those last instructions?”
“Tell him they will be carried out to the letter,” admonished the president.
Acey Smith extended his hand. “I congratulate you, J. J.,” he offered.
“Hold on, Smith,” called Slack as the other turned to leave. “Wait till I get my coat and hat, and I’ll be with you.”
He went to a locker for the articles of wear. “We’ll slip over to the club and have dinner together,” he suggested. “You’ll have lots of time to—”
There was an eerie emptiness to the ring of his voice in the room. He whirled with the sentence uncompleted.
Acey Smith was gone.
Slack shrugged uncomfortably. “Vanished,” he muttered. “I can almost fancy a faint smell of brimstone fumes hangs about the place.”