"You needn't hand me the tariff," returned the bearded man with a laugh that jarred. "Here's the stuff. Only open it—quick."
The onlooker saw the applicant dive a hand into his hip pocket and draw out a roll of money. He heard the crumple of paper as he counted out a number of bills. Then, in a moment, his whole attention was diverted to the entrance door of the room. The swing door was thrust open and two men pushed their way in.
The man who came first was of medium height and square build. He had a disarming, florid face, and the bland, good-natured expression of a genial farmer. The other glanced swiftly over the room. He was the shorter of the two, and his clean shaven face and his undistinctive tweed clothing would have left him quite unremarkable but for his air of definite decision and purpose.
The first man the Englishman recognized as Saney, head of the Criminal Investigation Department of the province. The other was a stranger.
From the newcomers, the onlooker's attention was suddenly distracted by the slamming of a heavy door. It was the door of a telephone box, and he knew it was the door of "No. 1," the use of which had cost his friend one hundred dollars. He looked for the man with the beard. He had gone.
Saney's inspection of the room was rapid, and every individual foregathered came under his eye. Then he stepped up to the counter and spoke to the clerk.
His voice did not carry to the rest of the room, but the clerk's swift reply was plainly audible.
"I haven't had a sight of him, if that's what he's like," he said, handing back a photograph. "Still, the place is here for you to go through if you fancy that way. You know that, Mr. Saney. It's open to you the whole time."
The officer's reply was inaudible. But the voice of the stranger came sharply.
"Guess we'll just have a look at the fellow that passed into that 'phone box as we came in," he said.