The arrangement did not appeal as any too attractive to the young man, particularly in view of what happened at his afternoon interview with the lawyer, but he promised to abide by it.
II
At the appointed time Hammond went up to the legal offices of Winch, Stanton and Reid. An impatient-looking young male clerk was standing by the outer rail with hat and coat on ready to leave. The balance of the office staff had departed.
“Mr. Winch is engaged just now,” said the clerk, “but he left word for you to wait here. He will call you when he is ready.” Having delivered his message, the youth pushed through the double doors and ran downstairs three steps at a time.
Hammond swore under his breath. He hadn’t bothered about his evening meal, thinking the session with Winch would be of short duration, and he was tired and hungry.
He could distinguish the rumble of low-pitched voices in Winch’s private office, but could catch no word of what was said. Five minutes dragged by—ten—twenty—thirty. At a quarter to seven Hammond was furious enough to jump up and leave without giving any notice.
The door of Winch’s office opened, and, Winch, poking his head out, called: “Come in, Mr. Hammond.”
Hammond crossed the threshold and drew back in amazement. Standing by Winch’s desk was a tall man, iron-grey of hair with a keen face and deepset, piercing dark eyes.
It was Norman T. Gildersleeve!
“How do you do, Mr. Hammond?” Mr. Gildersleeve greeted the young man quietly, extending his hand. “You weren’t quite prepared to meet me here?”