He had come in a big yellow and black touring-car; and now, with a brief word to his mechanic, he climbed into the tonneau, and away they sped down town—a glitter of bull's-eye, brass, and varnish, with the mellow, horn notes floating far in their wake.
It was exactly four o'clock when he was ushered into Quarrier's private suite in the great marble Algonquin Loan and Trust Building, the upper stories of which were all golden in the sun against a sky of sapphire.
Quarrier was alone, gloved and hatted, as though on the point of leaving. He showed a slight surprise at seeing Plank, as if he had not been expecting him; and the manner of offering his hand subtly emphasised it as he came forward with a trace of inquiry in his greeting.
“You said four o'clock, I believe,” observed Plank bluntly.
“Ah, yes. It was about that—ah—matter—ah—I beg your pardon; can you recollect?”
“I don't know what it is you want. You requested this meeting,” said Plank, yawning.
“Certainly. I recollect it perfectly now. Will you sit here, Mr. Plank—for a moment—”
“If it concerns Inter-County, it will take longer than a moment—unless you cannot spare the time now,” said Plank. “Shall we call it off?”
“As a matter of fact I am rather short of time just now.”
“Then let us postpone it. I shall probably be at my office if you are anxious to see me.”