The last words were spoken very slowly, and the dull eyes looked straight before them.
Loring looked down at him with a cynical smile just touching his lips. He knew considerably more about his new friend’s character than he would have chosen to put into words, and he could guess, not inaccurately, what was passing in his mind at the moment. And the realisation of the shadowy possibilities with which Ramsay was occupied was no part of Marston Loring’s designs. He made no direct answer.
“He should be here by this time,” he said carelessly.
And as he spoke there was a sharp, cheery rap at the door; it opened quickly, and Julian Romayne appeared, very boyish, very good-looking, and with a curious, veiled keenness in his eyes.
“We were just expecting you,” said Loring, greeting him with a friendly nod. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Alfred Ramsay.”
Mr. Alfred Ramsay had risen to honour the introduction, turning his whole head slowly round as he looked at Julian, so that his eyes still gazed straight before them as they rested on the young man’s face.
“Pleased to know you,” he said indifferently.
“Very glad to make your acquaintance,” responded Julian pleasantly. “I hope I’m not behind time?”
“Pretty fair,” said Loring, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder with kindly patronage. “But Ramsay is a busy man, you know, so suppose we get to business at once. Ramsay,” he continued, in a brisk, businesslike voice, as the three sat down about the table, “Romayne knows nothing of the affair whatever. I shall begin by running over the preliminaries with him. And, first of all,” he went on, turning to Julian, “of course it is understood, Romayne, that we keep the matter to ourselves.”
He spoke in a curt, off-hand manner, and as Julian made a quick gesture of acquiescence, he went on in the same businesslike tone.