“For no reason.”
“Nonsense! You must have had some reason, Nick.”
“None of consequence,” smiled Nick. “I asked about him, in fact, only because I had to fairly drive him in here when I declined to send in a card or mention my name.”
Chief Weston threw back his head and laughed.
“That’s easily explained,” said he, still chuckling. “I growl at him roundly at regular intervals, Nick, for annoying me with visitors whom I neither know nor wish to see. I am getting him by degrees, however, so that he requires the whole pedigree of a caller before announcing him, which is about as bad a fault, I imagine. Sandy is all right, though, in his own peculiar way.”
“Sandy, eh? That’s a nickname, I take it, because of his red hair?”
“No, not exactly. His name is Sanderson Hyde.”
“Ah, just so.”
“I took him in to oblige a journalist friend,” added Weston, smiling. “It’s always well to stand ace-high with the press, you know.”
“That’s right, too,” nodded Nick, now willing to digress. “You sent for me to come over here from New York, Weston. What do you want of me?”