“Ah!” said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could not have said more in a folio.
As Carnegie passed out of the Chief’s office, the boy, George, entered it. He had found Mr. Vernet, and that gentleman would present himself right away.
And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously dressed, upright, handsome, and courteous as usual.
Perfectly aware as he was that his Chief had not summoned him there without a motive, and tolerably sure that this motive was out of the regular business routine, his countenance was as serene as if he were entering a ball-room, his manner just as calm and courtly.
“I hope I have not interfered with any manœuvre of yours, Van,” said the Chief, smiling as he proffered his hand.
“Not at all, sir. I was just in and preparing for an hour or two of rest.” And Vernet pressed the outstretched hand. “I am glad of this opportunity, sir.”
“The fact is—” began the Chief, after Vernet had ensconced himself in the chair opposite his own—“the fact is, I want to talk over this Englishman’s business a little, in a confidential way.”
“Yes?” The change that crossed Vernet’s face was scarcely perceptible.
“You see, just between us, I have no report from Stanhope, and none from you. And I want, very much, to get some new idea on the subject, soon.”
Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then: