Nick heard, meantime, the tramp of men through a corridor adjoining the opposite side of the outer office, and he knew that Chief Weston had immediately dismissed them, to receive him in private.
“So, so; the business is important,” he rightly conjectured.
The door closed behind Nick of itself, but the snap of the catch-lock hung fire until after the hearty voice of the Boston chief of detectives, as he arose and gripped Nick by the hand, had sounded through the room.
“How are you, Nick?” he cried cordially. “I’m a thousand times more than glad to see you, Carter, on my word.”
“Same to you, Weston,” laughed Nick. “Some time has passed since we met.”
“Too long a time, eh?”
“That’s right, too.”
“Have a chair.”
Now the catch-lock snapped lightly.
A finger between the door and the jamb had been withdrawn.