“Better wait till after lunch.”
About ten minutes after Mr. Mullins left the office, a man of forty—evidently a mechanic—entered.
“Is the bookkeeper in?” he asked.
“He’s gone to lunch.”
“He sent me a bill for this month’s rent, which I have already paid.”
“Please give me your name.”
“James Long.”
“And where do you live?”
The address was given—a house on East Twentieth Street.
“Haven’t you the receipt?” asked Chester.