Williams hung up the receiver. As he did so, his door opened and the typist appeared.
"There are three men here to see you," she said. "Mr. Windsor—"
The eyes of Williams darted to his desk. He hastily dropped certain papers into the top drawer, closed it, and nodded.
"Very well, bring them in,"' he said.
"Good morning," said Windsor, as he entered the office. "Mr. Williams, here are Mr. Armstrong and his friend Mr. Dorns. I've consented to let Armstrong ask a few questions about those affidavits, if you don't mind. Where's Slosson?"
At hearing this, at sight of Armstrong and Robert Dorns, Williams stiffened. His darkly vulpine features turned a shade lighter; his crafty eyes settled on the gaze of Armstrong with a species of crafty boldness. Beholding himself unexpectedly cornered, he rose to the occasion with an outward display of assurance which, however desperate it was, betrayed no weakness or hesitation.
"I am entirely at your service, gentlemen," he said coldly. "Mr. Slosson has been in New York—"
"Why, I thought he'd be back before this!" exclaimed Windsor.
"He should have been. I had a telephone message from him, a moment ago that he would be at the office in a few moments. It appears that en route here he was assaulted and robbed and thrown off his train. I had not learned of it before now, and know no details. Sit down, please. We might as well be comfortable."
Armstrong perceived danger in this admirable sang-froid, and from that moment despaired of his purpose. This man was not to be browbeaten or tricked; only some accident, some slight word or action, could overcome him. Accordingly Armstrong, who now had himself perfectly in hand, plunged straight into the midst of things with as quiet and businesslike an air as he could summon up. He glanced at the copy of the affidavit in his hand, then spoke calmly.