McPherson tried to speak, then turned and made blindly for the door.
"Wait a minute!" called Grimm.
McPherson halted. Peter crossed to where his friend stood. With an effort at his old-time whimsical banter he held out his hand.
"I just want to promise again, Andrew," he said, "that if there's anything in this spook business of yours, I'll come back. And I'll apologise. Good-bye and good luck."
McPherson wrung his hand, without speaking, and strode noisily out.
CHAPTER VII
THE HAND RELAXES
Peter Grimm walked slowly back into the room. He paused at his desk and laid his hand on a sheaf of papers piled there. He looked about the big sunlit apartment almost as if he were trying to stamp the image of each of its familiar, pleasant features upon his memory.
Frederik, in the window seat, had been a silent onlooker to the strange scene. His pallid, thin face was set in an aspect of grieved wonder. And Peter Grimm, meeting his glance, sought to soften the young man's sorrow.