“You understand what’s to be done?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Lansing knows the signal.”
Nick passed into the study, closing the door after him.
Montgomery, a harassed and apprehensive look on his face, sat in the chair before his desk.
He turned his startled eyes on Nick as the latter entered.
“What does this farce mean?” he demanded, making a great effort to regain his composure.
“It means that I shall pose as Horace Montgomery for a few hours.”
“What sort of a crooked game are you attempting to play?”
“It is not crooked.”