The demand was harsh, and Bull swung round with a start. He was gazing down into the upturned face of Bat Harker, who was pointing at the suit case he was carrying.
"Guess I've a trunk back there in the hold somewhere," Bull replied indifferently, taking his interrogator for a quayside porter.
"That's all right. I'll have one of the boys tote it up. Best come right along. It's quite a piece up to the office. You've a letter for me?"
"I've a letter for Mr. Bat Harker."
The doubt in Bull's tone set a genuine grin in the other's eyes.
"Sure. That's me. Bat Harker. Maybe you don't guess I look it. Don't worry. Just pass it over."
Bull groped in an inner pocket, surprise affording him some amusement. His interest in Sachigo had abruptly focussed itself on this man.
"I'm kind of sorry," he said. "I surely took you for some sort of—porter."
Bat laughed outright, and glanced down at his work-stained clothing.
"Wal, that ain't new," he said. Then his eyes resumed their keen regard. "We don't need to wait around though. The skitters are mighty thick down here. Sachigo's gettin' a special breed I kind o' hate. That letter, an'—we'll get along."