A few days later I received a telegram from Napier dated Guaymas.
“LETTER RECEIVED STOP THANKS STOP SHALL CALL ON YOU TOMORROW,” it read.
“He must be flying,” I commented.
“Or coming in a white shroud,” suggested Ralph. “I think I’ll phone Captain Hodson to send a squad car around here; sometimes these nuts are dangerous.” He was still skeptical.
I must admit that we both awaited the arrival of Carson Napier with equal interest. I think Ralph expected to see a wild-eyed maniac. I could not visualize the man at all.
About eleven o’clock the following morning Ralph came into my study. “Mr. Napier is here,” he said.
“Does his hair grow straight out from his scalp, and do the whites of his eyes show all around the irises?” I inquired, smiling.
“No,” replied Ralph, returning the smile; “he is a very fine looking man, but,” he added, “I still think he’s a nut.”
“Ask him to come in,” and a moment later Ralph ushered in an exceptionally handsome man whom I judged to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years old, though he might have been even younger.
He came forward with extended hand as I rose to greet him, a smile lighting his face; and after the usual exchange of banalities he came directly to the point of his visit.