The office boy stepped to the railing.
"Mr. Lerton busy?" Farland asked.
"He is alone in his private office, sir," said the boy, who regarded the detective with admiration and awe. After Farland's other visit, the youth had decided to be a detective when he grew up.
"I am to go right in—important business," Farland said. "Never mind announcing me."
The willing boy opened the gate, and Farland hurried across to the door of the private office. He paused there a moment and seemed to pull himself together, as if making sure before entering the room of questions he wanted to ask and information he wanted to gather. Then he threw the door open, stepped quickly inside, closed the door, and turned the key.
Lerton was sitting at his desk with his back to the door. He made no move until he heard the key turned. Then he whirled around in his desk chair.
"I—Great Scott, Farland, how you startled me!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was my secretary."
"Pardon me for butting in this way, but I am in a deuce of a hurry and told the boy it was all right," Farland said.
"You'll smash my office discipline doing things like this. But, sit down, man! What is it now? Has that cousin of mine been acting up again, or are you going to pester me with a lot of fool questions about things I don't know anything about?"
Farland had seated himself in the chair at the end of the desk, within four feet of George Lerton. He had tossed his hat to a table and twisted the cigar into one corner of his mouth. Now he stared Lerton straight in the eyes.