"Tell them not to be in too big a hurry—it may clear up soon, and it may take time yet. Mr. Kitchell, can you invent a plausible excuse for sending your man Burrell out of town, some distance, for a few days?" I asked, casually.
Had the points of a dozen pins been suddenly introduced into the bottom of his chair, the effect on him could not have been more electrical. He sprang to his feet, indignant and angry to the point of apoplexy.
"You don't mean to say—you mean our chief clerk—you should be very cautious how you attempt to besmirch—do you actually mean him?" he fairly shouted, moving toward me menacingly.
"He is either used as a tool or is directly implicated, and with him out of town I propose to find out which. If implicated, I want to know just how far, but he must be sent on a half-hour notice—without even a chance to telephone."
"Well——!" he exploded, and began to polish his bare cranium with a big handkerchief. "I'll see—that must be arranged—it can't be done in a hurry——"
"Just as soon as you can without arousing suspicion will do, but I can't move, however, until that is done," I interrupted.
"I'm so astonished I can't think now—give me a little time."
"All right—and another thing, I wish you would have Miss Bascom transferred back here to me immediately."
"That's easy—I will have that done at once—the girl is all right, but Burrell," he said, shaking his head sadly—"Burrell takes my breath," he added as he went out, leaving the impression that the bed of a railroad superintendent was not bowered with roses.