'Dead!'
'Ah! Dead?'
The editor leant forward and pressed a small white button at the side of his desk. Simultaneously the door opened, and a man in livery stood silently waiting.
'Send Mr. Deacon!'
'Yessir.'
'Dead, is he?' continued the editor, in a different tone. 'I am sorry to hear that. It must have been sudden. Just give me a few details.'
While speaking he had taken a pencil and paper. Trist told him in a few words what had taken place in the Heimdalfjord, and as he spoke the editor wrote. A minute later Mr. Deacon, a small man, who looked incapable of taking the initiative in anything whatsoever, appeared.
'Sudden death of Admiral Wylie,' said the editor in a monotone, as he held out the paper towards Mr. Deacon, without looking, however, in his direction. 'Short paragraph—look up details of career.'
'Nothing sensational and nothing very personal,' put in Trist with gentle severity.
'No,' added his companion, 'nothing of that sort. Admiral Wylie was a personal friend of my own.'