CHAPTER XIV. FOILED
When Mr. Bodery opened the door of the room upon the second floor of the tall house in the Strand that morning, he found Mr. Morgan seated at the table surrounded by proof-sheets, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves tucked up. The subeditor of the Beacon was in reality a good hard worker in his comfortable way, and there was little harm in his desire that the world should be aware of his industry.
“Good morning, Morgan,” said the editor, hanging up his hat.
“Morning,” replied the other genially, but without looking up. Before Mr. Bodery had seated himself, however, the sub-editor laid his hand with heavy approval upon the odoriferous proof-sheet before him, and looked up.
“This article of Vellacott's is first-rate,” he said. “By Jove! sir, he drops on these holy fathers—lets them have it right and left. The way he has worked out the thing is wonderful, and that method of putting everything upon supposition is a grand idea. It suggests how the thing could be done upon the face of it, while the initiated will see quickly enough that it means to show how the trick was in reality performed—ha, ha!”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Bodery absently. He was glancing at the pile of letters that lay upon his desk. There were among them one or two telegrams, and these he put to one side while he took up each envelope in succession to examine the address, throwing it down again unopened. At length he turned again to the telegrams, and picked up the top one. He was about to tear open the envelope when there was a sharp knock at the door.
“'M'in!” said Mr. Morgan sharply, and at the same moment the silent door was thrown open. The diminutive form of the boy stood in the aperture.
“Gentleman to see you, sir,” he said, with great solemnity.
“What name?” asked Mr. Bodery.
“Wouldn't give his name, sir—said you didn't know it, sir.”