Twice a name was called by a uniformed boy in that unintelligible fashion which seems to be the habit of his species. The boy hovered round. Then he came up behind the chair on which Bull was seated and hurled his final challenge.
"Sternford, sir?" he asked curtly.
His victim turned.
"Yes."
"Wanted on the 'phone, sir."
The boy was gone on the run. He had hunted his quarry down. There were still fresh victories to be achieved.
* * * * *
Bull was at the 'phone, and his eyes were smiling at an insurance advertisement set up for the edification and interest of those whose use of the instrument prevented their escape.
"Yes. Oh, yes. Got in this morning. What's that? Oh, pretty rough. Yes. It's a bad sea most all the time. Why, that's good of you, Mr. Peterman." His smile broadened. "Yes. You sent an excellent ambassador. A charming girl. Well, there's no time like the present. Yes. I've lunched. I'm just through with my mail. Four o'clock would suit me admirably. Why sure I'd like to. All right. G'bye."
He stood for a moment after replacing the receiver. Then, becoming aware of another wanting to use the instrument, he moved away.