"You're a good guesser, Mr. Garraboy."
The broker drew in his upper lip and, coming slowly forward, said:
"The presence of these gentlemen is exceedingly distasteful to me."
"You're not in a position to object, Mr. Garraboy."
Garraboy turned his back and walked slowly back and forth, evidently in distressed conjecture, occasionally raising his head to shoot a glance at the three, half in rage, half in fear.
All at once he stopped by the desk as though his mind had come to a certain decision, and, bearing heavily on it, said:
"I do not know that I care, under the circumstances, to enter into any discussion. You, Mr. McKenna, represent my client, Mrs. Alva White; your claim against me is for forty-five thousand eight hundred and forty-six dollars." He drew out his pocketbook. "I have here a check made to your order." A second time he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a check-book. "I was not notified that Miss Charters' was also under discussion. However, I will settle that at once. To whose order, please?"
McKenna, without answering, indicated himself with a jerk of his finger.
Garraboy, seating himself at the desk, took up a pen and carefully filled in the check, blotted it and handed the two drafts to McKenna, who took them, endorsed them and, ringing, handed them to an assistant:
"Present these at once. Telephone me as soon as they are honored."