Both men turned.
“That’s my name,” the older man replied, looking the millionaire over coolly, as if he had never seen him before in his life.
The scrutiny had not gone far, however, before a look of recognition sprang into Nick’s eyes.
“Ah!” he went on. “Mr. Griswold, is it not?”
“You ought to know,” was the significant reply. “I called on you yesterday, in company with Cray, and it was that which took you to New Pelham night before last.”
Nick looked from the newspaper proprietor to his assistant, and back to Griswold again.
“There seems to be a very strange misunderstanding here, Mr. Griswold,” he said. “I have just returned from the Adirondacks, where we were enjoying a little vacation. Chick, here, received a telegram from my old friend, Jack Cray, stating that the latter had been seriously injured in connection with an important case, and asking that Chick return to New York at once. I did not understand why the wire hadn’t been sent to me, but, of course, I decided to accompany my assistant. If you know anything about Cray’s condition, I wish you would tell me.”
The dignified, commanding Lane Griswold looked at the detective in a half-dazed manner, and his lower jaw showed a tendency to drop.
“You are the coolest proposition I ever expect to see, Carter!” he said, with grudging admiration.
It was clear that something extraordinary was in the air, and Nick acted accordingly.