“You don’t say? When did this happen?” Mr. Broad’s voice was urgent, eager.
“The other day—I don’t know when. I met Johnson this morning and he told me. I don’t know how the old boy will get on without Philo.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” said Broad softly. “You surprise me. I wonder he has the nerve, though I don’t think he’s lacking in that quality.”
“The nerve?” said the puzzled Ray. “I don’t think it requires much nerve to fire a secretary.”
A fleeting smile played on the hard face of the American.
“By that I meant that it requires nerve for a man of Maitland’s character to dismiss a man who must share a fair number of his secrets. Not that I should imagine there would be any great confidence between these two. What is Johnson doing?”
“He’s looking for a job, I think,” said Ray. He was getting a little irritated by the persistence of the stranger’s questions. He had a feeling that he was being “pumped.” Possibly Mr. Broad sensed this suspicion, for he dropped his flow of interrogations and switched to the police raid, a prolific source of discussion amongst the members of Heron’s.
Ray looked after him as he walked out a little later and was puzzled. Why was he so keen on knowing all these things? Was he testing him? He was glad to be alone to consider this extraordinary commission which had come to him. The adventure of it, the disguise of it, all were particularly appealing to a romantic young man; and Ray Bennett lacked nothing in the matter of romance. There was a certain delightful suggestion of danger, a hint almost as thrilling of lawlessness, in these instructions. What might be the end of the adventure, he did not trouble to consider. It was well for his peace of mind that he was no seer; for, if he had been, he would have flown that very moment, seeking for some desolate place, some hole in the ground where he could lie and shiver and hide.