Mr. Bodery had in the meantime consulted his watch.
“Yes,” he replied, with dangerous politeness. “There would still be time to do so if necessary—at the sacrifice of some hundredweight of paper.”
“How marvellously organised your interesting paper must be!”
Dead silence. Most men would have felt embarrassed, but no sign of such feeling was forthcoming from any of the three. It is possible that the dark gentleman with the sky-blue eyes wished to establish a sense of embarrassment with a view to the furtherance of his own ends. If so, his attempt proved lamentably abortive. Mr. Bodery sat with his plump hands resting on the table, and looked contemplatively up into the stranger's face. Mr. Morgan was scribbling pencil notes on a tablet.
“The truth is,” explained the stranger at length, “that a friend of mine, who is unfortunately ill in bed this morning—”
(Mr. Bodery did not look in the least sympathetic, though he listened attentively.)
“... has received a telegram from a gentleman who I am told is on the staff of your journal—Mr. Vellacott. This gentleman wishes to withdraw, for correction, an article he has sent to you. He states that he will re-write the article, with certain alterations, in time for next week's issue.”
Mr. Bodery's face was pleasantly illegible.
“May I see the telegram?” he asked politely.
“Certainly!”