“Well, that's a story! Any deviation from the normal is, even though it may not be tragedy. The delay may mean—”
“Nothing whatever,” finished Kidder, a trifle exultingly. “There comes Garrettson's carriage. I guess you'd better cover!”
And the Planet man laughed.
“Kidder, you'll never be rich! Of course I shall not cover until I know the reason for the delay. Make haste! I ought to take a good look at his face. I want to see how he looks and notice how he walks up the steps to the office. One glimpse of Harriman getting off the train once put a cool quarter of a million in my pocket.”
“Stocks went up when he died. People sold them thinking—”
“When you know a man is dying and you know that the rabble doesn't know it, you don't always sell stocks short, Kidder,” anticipated Robison, with a gentle smile.
“Hello!” said Kidder, and ran forward.
Robison followed. The coupé had stopped before the door of the banking firm's offices. The herculean private policeman in gray had hastened to open the door of the chief's carriage and had staggered back as if horrified by what he had seen.
“Murdered!” thought the newspaper man in a flash. “What a story!”
The policeman turned an alarmed face toward the coachman and asked: