He was not long in finding one. The brilliancy of the idea that had all at once struck him made him cast the paper from his knees to the floor. Then, having smoked a cigarette and consolidated his plan, he called the attendant.
“I want to see the gentleman who runs this place.”
“Dr. Hoover, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly, sir, I will ring and have him sent for.”
He rang the bell, a servant answered and went off with the message.
Jones took up the paper again and resumed his cigarette. Five minutes passed and then the door opened and a gentleman entered.
A pleasant faced, clean-shaven man of fifty, dressed in blue serge and with a rose in his button-hole, such was Doctor Hoover. But the eye of the man held him apart from others; a blue grey eye, keen, sharp, hard, for all the smile upon the pleasant face.
Jones rose up.
“Dr. Hoover, I think,” said he.