What went on behind the locked door of Room 403 after the two had been admitted was a secret that was not shared with any fourth party, though one of Editor Kendall’s young men promptly waylaid Stillings at the close of the conference.
“Tell Mr. Kendall he shall have the news, and have it first, when there is any,” was all the lawyer would say; but Connabel, the star reporter who had done the waylaying, died hard.
“Give me a hint, Mr. Stillings—just the barest shadow of a hint,” he begged. “Will the case be taken to the Federal courts?”
“Not for publication, Fred,” laughed the lawyer, who was evidently in better spirits. Then he added: “There’s a big story in this, my boy, and you shall have it when it’s ripe; I’ll promise you that—I’ll ask Kendall to detail you. And that is positively all you’ll get out of me now.”
Fifteen minutes after the lawyer and Mr. Kinzie had left Room 403 the door opened again, this time to admit Starbuck.
“Well?” said the big-bodied expert, when Maxwell’s brother-in-law had taken the chair recently vacated by the banker.
“The judge is sick, or playing sick,” was the answer. “Doc Mangum has just gone out to the house, and the servants have their orders to admit nobody.”
“What is the nature of his sickness? Does anybody know that?”
“Oh, yes; it’s heart trouble and too much altitude. He’s had it before.”
Sprague’s eyes narrowed and his big hands closed in a vice-like grip on the arms of his chair.