“Will be with you at five o'clock. Invent some excuse for V.'s absence. On no account give alarm to authorities.”
The sharp boy took the telegram from the editor's hand with an expression of profound respect upon his wicked features.
“Go down to Banks,” said Mr. Bodery, “ask him to let me have two copies of the foreign policy article in ten minutes.”
When the silent door was closed, Mr. Morgan wheeled round upon his heels, and gazed meditatively at his superior.
“Going down to see these people?” he asked, with a jerk of his head towards the West.
“Yes, I am going by the eleven-fifteen.”
“I have been thinking,” continued the sub-editor, “we may as well keep the printing-office door locked to-day. That slippery gentleman with the watery eyes meant business, or I am very much mistaken. I'll just send upstairs for Bander to go on duty at the shop door to-day as well as to-morrow; I think we shall have a big sale this week.”
Mr. Bodery rose from his seat and began brushing his faultless hat.
“Yes,” he replied; “do that. It would be very easy to get at the machinery. Printers are only human!”
“Machinery is ready enough to go wrong when nobody wishes it,” murmured Mr. Morgan vaguely, as he sat down at the table and began setting the scattered papers in order.