The inquest was over. A suggestion for an adjournment, half-heartedly expressed by one juryman, had been briefly discussed and withdrawn. Bullard had come through his ordeal without a spot of discredit. He looked pale and fagged, but what was more natural in the circumstances? A horrid experience it must have been, those present agreed, to behold a face and clutching hands fall away from a fourth-story window! And he was going to pay for a decent funeral for the abandoned wretch who might have murdered him! There was a gentleman for you!
Nevertheless, more than once Bullard's nerve had been at breaking point.
What was young France doing at the inquest? He was to know soon enough.
Teddy was waiting for him just outside the door.
"I have a taxi here, Mr. Bullard," he said, "so we can go to your office together. I have a little business to discuss—financial, I should say."
"I'm afraid it must keep, Mr. France," Bullard managed to reply fairly coolly. "This is Saturday, you know, and after business hours."
"You will see for yourself presently, Mr. Bullard, that it won't keep. In fact, if you don't step into that cab at once—"
Bullard got in, Teddy followed, and the cab started.
"Wow," began Bullard, "what the—"
"Hope you don't mind my smoking," said Teddy, lighting a cigarette.
"Rather an uncomfy corner you've just come out of, Mr. Bullard."
"Kindly choose your words more carefully—'corner' does not apply to my recent unpleasant experience—and name your business."