Therefore, he crossed the large room, threw the communicating door open, and, standing in the doorway, took in the scene at a sweeping glance.
There were two men in the medium-sized office.
One was the man who had preceded him up the stairs.
The man whom the boy had called Mr. Gay.
The other was an older man, perhaps thirty-five years of age, tall, stockily built, with a slight stoop in the shoulder, possessing a rather cold, cynical-looking face, and a pair of gray eyes, which had a habit of trying to bore holes into everything upon which they centered.
This man at the time of Nick’s appearance stood leaning against a flat-topped table with one side of his face toward the door. He saw Nick as soon as the latter pushed the door wide open.
The other man’s back was toward the door, and Nick’s presence was not known to him immediately.
He was just saying, his remarks being addressed to the older man:
“Do you think anybody will believe your story?”
The speaker was pointing to something before him.