Varney handed him the yellow slips; then he arose and pushed the service button.
"McTosh," he said, "send to town at once and get me copies of the Sun, the Times, the Daily and the Herald—all the New York papers. No, go yourself, and don't stay longer than is absolutely necessary."
Peter, meantime, with a heart beating as it had not beat the night before when he had overthrown Ryan and stolen his meeting, was reading the following:
Daily story has got us all guessing. If it's really
you, what the devil are you up to, anyway?
R. E. TOWNES.
The other was in a similar vein:
Alarming story in Daily to-day. Absolute secrecy a
prerequisite as explained. Reporters tried to reach me
to-night. Trust you fully, but implore you to proceed
with utmost caution.
ELBERT CARSTAIRS.
"The plot thickens," said Peter when Varney turned back, "till I, for one, can't see the drift. However—you've sent for the Daily?"
Varney nodded. "I told him to get three or four others, too, for a blind."
"Politics," said Peter, in his calmest fighting manner, "is all off. I'm not the least interested in it. We'll give the morning to studying yellow journalism. But about Miss Carstairs. How can you possibly—"
"By heaven," said Varney, with a sudden burst of anger, "I'll make her know who I am, if I have to drag in her own mother to introduce me."