CHAPTER IX
THE PRICE OF A MAN
When, half an hour before, Katherine walked with bowed head out of Harrison Blake’s office, Blake gazed fixedly after her for a moment, and his face, now that he was private, deepened its sickly, ashen hue. Then he strode feverishly up and down the room, lips twitching nervously, hands clinching and unclinching. Then he unlocked a cabinet against the wall, poured out a drink from a squat, black bottle, gulped it down, and returned the bottle, forgetting to close the cabinet. After which he dropped into his chair, gripped his face in his two hands, and sat at his desk breathing deeply, but otherwise without motion.
Presently his door opened.
“Mr. Brown is here to see you,” announced a voice.
He slowly raised his head, and stared an instant at his stenographer in dumfounded silence.
“Mr. Brown!” he repeated.
“Yes,” said the young woman.