“The only reason I might do it would be to protect you, Joe,” he replied. “If I held the post until you were up and around again, no one could steal it from you.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t happen,” his friend responded carelessly. “I have a good stand-in with the News-Vue people.”
“Even so, you can’t tell what will happen these days,” hinted Flash.
“Then will you take the job if I can land it for you?”
“I’ll not promise yet, Joe. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll wire Riley and see what he says. I can’t afford to jeopardize my own place on the Ledger, you know.”
The matter was allowed to rest. Leaving the hospital before the visiting hours were over, Flash dispatched the telegram, and then returned to the hotel.
As he passed through the lobby he was surprised to see George Doyle sitting in a near-by chair, his back turned. He was talking earnestly with an alert-eyed, gray-haired man of forty.
Instantly it struck Flash that Doyle had wished to have him away from the hotel at the time of an anticipated interview. Impulsively, he crossed the room, intending to test out his theory by speaking to the technician.
Doyle did not see him approach. As Flash paused just behind the upholstered chair, he arose and extended his hand to the man who faced him.
“I’m glad you liked my work,” he said heartily. “And I’m sorry about Evans. He’s given me to understand he wouldn’t be interested in any proposition.”