“You!”
He nodded.
“I didn’t know I was producing this outfit, but there it is.” How, he did not seem disposed to explain at that moment.
Soon he heard the whirr of the bell, and thinking that Elk had perhaps forgotten the key, he rose, and, going along the passage, opened the door. It was not Elk.
“Forgive me for calling. Is that Mr. Broad?” The visitor peered forward in the darkness.
“I’m Broad all right. You’re Mr. Johnson, aren’t you? Come right in, Mr. Johnson.”
He closed the door behind him and turned on the light. The stout man was in a state of pitiable agitation.
“I was up late last night,” he said, “and my servant brought me an early copy of the Post Herald.
“So you know, eh?”
“It’s terrible, terrible! I can’t believe it!”