"There'll be a couple of gentlemen in the parlor, sir," answered the blushing Lena. "They're asking for you."
At once Varick guessed who those callers were. He signaled Lena to silence and, opening the door of his room, gently pushed Bab inside. When he had closed the door again he turned to the astonished waitress.
"Who are they, Lena?" he asked, and Lena told him.
The men waiting downstairs were Beeston and David Lloyd.
XXVI
"You've come too late, Mr. Beeston," said Varick grimly as he closed the parlor door behind him. "John Mapleson is dead."
Facing him on the chair across the room Beeston sat with both his gnarled, knotted hands gripping the handle of his stick. His face was a mask, but from under his shaggy brows his eyes glinted like balefires. Varick could see, too, his jaws work dryly together. David stood beside him. Propped up on his crutches, he bent forward to peer at Varick, and never had he looked more frail, more sensitive. Varick's speech he had not seemed to hear. If he had he did not heed it.
"Bab—is she here?" he demanded eagerly.