“The agent in that little deal Whitmarsh was considering only last week; a loan for the reconstruction of a French factory——”
“I am not in Mr. Whitmarsh’s confidence, Mr. Storm.” President Langhorne darted a keen glance at the other and added: “May I ask why you assume that I know anything of this particular affair?”
“I understood that you were interested in it.” Storm paused expectantly, but the president shook his head.
“Never heard of it,” he asseverated. “You’ve been misinformed, Mr. Storm. The man you mention is absolutely unknown to me.”
He turned pointedly to his desk and Storm withdrew, still smiling covertly. The old fox wouldn’t admit that he had tried to get in on the game, of course, now that someone else had beaten him to it. Wait until he learned who that someone was! The joke was so good that it would keep a little longer, especially since Storm had given him something to puzzle over. He would have been a fool to give it away now; old Langhorne could make it infernally unpleasant for him around the office if he chose.
The three months stretched interminably before him, and George with dog-like fidelity seemed determined to stick close and make it as irksome as he could. God, if only he were free from them all!
Storm had left his own car locked in the garage at Greenlea, but on an impulse he hired another when his work was finished for the afternoon and had himself driven out to a shore resort for dinner. The season had not yet opened, and the place was semi-deserted, yet the isolation fitted in with his mood. George would in all probability put in an appearance at the apartment that evening, and to avoid him Storm lingered deliberately over his meal and ordered the chauffeur to take the longest way home.
He would not admit even to himself that the sudden aversion to the companionship of the man he had for so long regarded with amused, half-condescending tolerance had sprung from the fact that George unconsciously brought to his mind the aspects of his crime which he was most determined to put behind him. George was a constant reminder of the years which must be forgotten; his grief at the loss of the woman who had given him a valued friendship was a constant reproach.
How easy it had been to blind him to the truth! How easy it had been to blind everybody! Why, a man with sufficient intelligence could pull off almost anything in this world and get away with it if he had only enough nerve and self-control!
Storm was still smiling at the thought as he entered his apartment house long after ten o’clock and found George sitting patiently in the hall, his near-sighted eyes glued to a newspaper.