He had transferred all the packages not packed, and was struggling at his heavy valise, when he heard a voice behind him, and started.
“I guess you thought I was never coming back,” Peters stammered breathlessly. He was dragging a small trunk through the little back door behind the safe. “It nearly broke my back getting this thing up those five flights of stairs.”
“Bring it this way, Peters!” Brainard shouted nervously, pushing the old man through the door into the outer office.
He banged the door shut just as a muffled scream issued from the safe.
“What’s that?” Peters asked, dropping the trunk to the floor.
“Somebody in the hall, I suppose,” Brainard replied coolly.
Fortunately the old man’s attention was distracted from the scream by the sight of the reporter. Farson had lighted another cigarette, and was swinging his legs and smiling amiably.
“Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”
“Who—”
“That’s all right. Your friend here seems to be in a hurry. He asked me to stay and help in the spring moving.”