The man went in, after taking my hat and coat, and Gordon rushed out to meet me.
"Hello, Dave!" he greeted me. "When you rang the bell, I thought it was Lorimer—the Lorimer. He told me last night at the Van Rossums that he would drop in and see me."
"You are certainly making good headway among the millionaires," I told him.
"They're the fellows I'm gunning for," he answered quietly.
"Look here, Gordon," I began at once. "Frances Dupont is out of a job. Fire in the shanty next door, and her employer has been flooded out. You were saying something about wishing to—"
"Yes, I know I was," he replied, staring vaguely at the floor. "I—I'll have to think about it."
"I suppose you have some other pressing work on hand."
He made no answer, going up to the humidor on the mantel and selecting a cigar, which he lighted very deliberately.
"Have one?" he asked me.
"No, thanks," I declined. "I'll help myself to a cigarette. One of those perfectos so early in the morning would set my head whirling."