“Let’s see; this is Wednesday,” George responded. “I ought to be able to make it by the first of next week. I’ll talk to Abbott about it this afternoon and let you know later. Say, why don’t you meet me at the Club?”
Storm made a quick gesture of rejection.
“I haven’t been there since——”
“I know, and that’s just why it will do you good,” George urged. “You’ve got to take the plunge some time, you know. There is no good in isolating yourself and brooding, as you have been doing. Most of the fellows are away now for the hot weather; you won’t find half a dozen there before dinner.”
“We-ell,” Storm conceded. The ubiquitous Millard would not be present, at any rate, nor would anyone else who had the slightest interest in the murder of an obscure paymaster; and now that the suggestion had been made he felt a vague desire to see the old club once more. “I’ll meet you there at half-past five.”
The papers were still devoting much front-page space to the murder and robbery, but it was concerned principally with the activities of the detectives employed by Miss Saulsbury and those of the Mid-Eastern Corporation. The Police Department was reported as making progress, but its nature was not disclosed; and Storm smiled to himself as he read. No mention was made of the two men seen walking on the Drive, but the incident of the motor car was prominently exploited, and the generally accepted theory seemed to be that the body had been brought from some undetermined distance and flung over the wall.
All reference to the bag and its contents when found at the terminal had been permitted to drop, and he looked in vain for any suggestion that the numbers of the bills were known.
When he reached the club that afternoon he found that George had not yet arrived; but a tall, lanky figure arose with outstretched hand from the window seat.
“Hello, old fellow! Glad to see you back! We’ve been asking about you.”
“Thanks, Griffiths. I’ve not been away,” Storm replied briefly. “Just haven’t felt sociable, that’s all.”