CHAPTER V

A MAD MESSAGE

A STOOP-SHOULDERED, bearded old man tottered along the corridor of an office building. His white beard and flowing white hair gave him a patriarchal appearance. He might have been a prospector returned from a search for nuggets of gold.

He leaned heavily on a cane and seemed to find great difficulty in moving along. Yet the old man’s eyes were keen, and he had a semblance of youth that is rare in one so aged.

People in the lobby of the building had smiled when he had entered. The elevator man had grinned when the ancient personage had inquired in a crackling voice if this was really the sixteenth floor. The operator had politely pointed out the way to the office which the old man desired.

The old chap arrived at a door, and curiously examined the name that appeared upon the frosted glass. It was evident that he had difficulty in reading the inscription. A telegraph boy, coming up the corridor, stopped to help him. Leaning on his cane, the old man pointed with his free hand.

“Is this the law office of Charles Blefken?” he inquired, in quavering tones.

“This is it, pop,” said the boy, with a grin. “You want to go in here?”