Murphy led him to the back room and rapped on a door.
"Come in," a voice called.
Murphy opened the door and entered, beckoning to John with a jerk of the head to follow him.
CHAPTER XII
The room was small and dark, the only light coming from an electric lamp over an old-fashioned, battered roll-top desk that completely filled the wall at one end. Between John and Murphy and the desk was a scarred oak table behind which sat a thin-faced man, an unlighted cigar protruding from a corner of his mouth.
"Shut the door," said the man, without removing the cigar.
John closed the door.