A few moments later, Stumph, Ashton-Kirk's man servant, entered the study, gravely.
"Mr. Scanlon, sir," he said.
The big form of Scanlon filled the doorway and then advanced into the room.
"Didn't expect to see you again to-day," said he. "But there's a little matter came up that I thought I'd get your advice on before I went any further."
"Good," said the investigator, briskly. Then to the grave-faced servant: "Stumph, get these books away. And Fuller," to the dapper young man, "I'd like to have transcripts of those Treasury Department papers at once."
"Very well," said Fuller.
When the investigator and his caller were alone, the former offered the other some cigarettes.
"These are Porto Ricos of unusual flavor," he said. "Sent me by a planter for whom I chanced at one time to do a small service."
He put aside the Coblentz, and with Scanlon lighted one of the cigarettes. The full rich aroma of the island herb drifted through the room like a heavy incense; and under its influence the troubled look which Scanlon's face had worn lightened a trifle.
"I guess I'm a little up in the air," admitted he, finally. "It's always that way with me when things begin to break wrong in anything I'm interested in. Just when I need all my nerve and judgment, I get as anxious as an old lady who's been sold the wrong kind of tea."