He decided, therefore, to return to his office and look over the mail; perchance he might find there some comforting light on the rice situation.
As he came into the general office his secretary called to him that Mr. Mellenger was in his office, waiting to see him; that he had been waiting there since one o’clock.
Dan nodded comprehendingly and walked into the ambuscade. Mellenger was seated in Dan’s chair. He had his feet up on the window sill and in his left hand he held a cigar.
“Well, old horse thief,” he murmured with lazy cordiality, “you’ve given me quite a wait. Have you told the story to any other newspaper?”
“What story, you fat parasite?”
“Romantic skipper, leprosy, suicide, lovely half-caste daughter of royal blood, to be adopted by well-known young business man of highest social standing. Where is her photograph, and if no photo be available, where is she?” He touched with his toe a camera on the floor beside him. “Great story,” he continued. “Front page stuff. Got to give it a spread.”
“I could spread your nose for news all over your impudent countenance,” Dan retorted irritably. “There must be no publicity on this matter, Mel!”
“Got to be, my son. The doctor of the public health service who examined your shipmaster yesterday boarded the Moorea this morning to remove the man to quarantine, and was informed by the mate that the leprous one had gone over the rail and failed to come up. That doctor suspects Larrieau has escaped—and you know they can’t afford to have a leper running around on the loose. All the water front reporters have part of the story from the doctor and part from old Casson and they’re satisfied with that, but I’m here to get the facts.”
“I understand you’ve been here since one o’clock.”
Mellenger nodded. “My day off, Dan, but the city editor knew how close you and I have always been, so he called me up at my hotel and asked me to get the story.”