In the morning he nerved himself to the ordeal of appearing in the streets. His belief in his own innocence made his suffering greater as he waited for the clap of a heavy hand on his shoulder and the summons of an officer's voice. He knew that the eyes of Uncle Sam are sharp and his reach a long one. He had firm belief in the almost uncanny vigilance of government officers. He was rather surprised to find himself at last in the outer office of Marston & Waller.
He sat down on a bench and waited for a time in order to regain his self-possession. He wanted to control features and voice before accosting one of the guardians of the magnate. But the espionage of the attendants did not permit loiterers to remain long in that place without explanation. A man tiptoed to him and asked his name and his business.
“My name doesn't matter,” said Mayo. “But I have important business with Mr. Marston. If you will tell him that the business is most important—that it is something he ought to know, and that—”
“You haven't any appointment, then?”
“No.”
“Do you think for one moment that you can get in to see Mr. Marston without giving your name and explaining beforehand the nature of your business?”
“I hoped so, for it is important.”
“What is it?”
“It's private—it's something for Mr. Marston.”
“Impossible!” was the man's curt rejoinder. He went back to his post. In a few moments he returned to Mayo. “You mustn't remain here. You cannot see Mr. Marston.”