Wormley was a privileged character, and his remark was received with good-natured laughter. Under cover of the noise, Baker whispered to Lloyd: "Stanton has discovered his cipher code book has been tampered with. Meet me at my office at five o'clock."
"All right, Colonel," and Baker departed.
By the time they had reached dessert, the grill room was deserted. Goddard lighted a cigar, and, lounging back in his chair, contemplated his host with keen interest.
"I can't understand it, Lloyd," he said finally.
"Understand what?" replied Lloyd, roused from his abstraction.
"Why you became a professional detective. With your social position, talents..."
"That's just it!"
"What?"
"My talents. If it had not been for them, I would have gone to West Point with you, Bob. But, above all else in the world I enjoy pitting my wits against another's—enjoy unravelling mysteries that baffle others. To me there is no excitement equal to a man hunt. I suppose in a way it is an inheritance; my father was a great criminal lawyer, and his father before him. When Pinkerton organized the Secret Service division of the army in '61, I went with him, thinking I could follow my chosen profession and serve my country at the same time. Besides," with a trace of bitterness in his voice, "I owe society nothing; nor do I desire to associate with society people."
Goddard gazed sorrowfully at his friend. "Hasn't the old wound healed, Lloyd?" he asked softly.