As he was going out of the president’s office he almost collided with a young man, and a moment’s glance showed Larry that it was Witherby, the uncouth runner.
“Oh, I—er—I didn’t know you were here!” exclaimed the young man with whom our hero had had the encounter in the subway. “What are you doing in the president’s private office?”
“He told me to go there,” said Larry coldly, not caring to give his real reason.
“That’s right,” spoke the president’s private messenger, coming up at this moment. “Mr. Dexter was sent in here to get——”
“To get some private papers!” exclaimed Larry quickly, with a wink at the messenger. The latter was in the confidence of the president, and it had been agreed that Larry’s mission was to be kept as secret as possible from the other bank employees.
“Oh, all right,” stammered Witherby. “I——”
“Did you want anything?” asked the messenger quickly.
“I—er—Director Wilson asked me to see if Mr. Bentfield was in,” was the stammering answer. “He wants to see the president.”
“Well, Mr. Bentfield has gone for the day,” spoke the messenger. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dexter,” and he ushered out Larry, who carried the load of bricks, while Harrison Witherby, with a black look at our hero, went back to his own department.