CHAPTER XXXIV.
GRISWOLD IN COMMAND.
The millionaire remained lost in thought for a few moments longer, then grasped Simpson firmly by the arm.
“Come into the house,” he ordered.
“But—but these, sir!” his former subordinate stammered, nodding over his shoulder, and moving his hands so that the chain of the handcuffs rattled.
For the moment Griswold had forgotten his desire for secrecy. To be sure, if he could expose Nick, he would be willing to have all the facts come out, but he knew that he would have to be very sure of himself and his facts before publishing any such charge against a man of the detective’s reputation; consequently, he would have to delay, in the hope that Cray would be able to tell his side of the story, and until then it was desirable that no rumors should be set in motion.
Therefore, he slipped off his motor coat and threw it like a cloak over Simpson’s bowed shoulders.
“Come!” he commanded again.
And with shuffling steps, his head down, John Simpson accompanied him to the house, but went through the kitchen, instead of going around to the front door.
“Thank Heaven!” the maid cried, as she caught sight of her employer. “Mr. Simpson! Is it really you? I must run and tell Mrs. Simpson right this minute!”