"What is it?" almost gasped Elias Droom, drawing the boy into the room.
"Mr. Droom? No answer, sir. Sign here." The boy, snow-covered, drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Droom.
"Where from?" demanded the old clerk, the paper rattling in his fingers.
"I don't know. I'm from Chicago Avenue," said the boy, with proper impudence. He took one look at Droom's face as the man handed the slip back to him and then hurried downstairs, far less impudent at heart than he had been.
Droom recognised the handwriting on the envelope as James Bansemer's. It was the first time his employer had communicated with him in this manner. He tore open the envelope and anxiously read the brief missive.
"I've got to go to the office," he said, surprise still lingering in his face. "It's important business—a consultation with—er—with an Eastern client."
"Gee, it's tough to turn out this kind of a night. I'm going your way, Mr. Droom. Come on, I'll take the car down with you."
"I—I won't be ready for some time."
"Oh, well, I'll say good-night, then."
Eddie Deever departed, chuckling to himself as he made his way to the U—— Building, determined to learn what he could of this unusual summons.