The underscoring of the word safe, particularly entertained him, and he laughed as at a great joke.
“I knew it!” he cried, though silently. “I knew it!”
Then, replacing such papers as he had visibly disarranged, Coe sauntered forth and left the house.
“Tell him I couldn’t wait any longer,” he said, casually to the door man and went his way.
His way took him to the establishment of Simeon Breese, Safe Maker.
“You make safes?” was Coe’s totally unnecessary query.
“Yes, sir,” admitted Breese, “what can I do for you?”
“I don’t exactly want a safe,” Coe said, with what was meant to be an ingratiating wink. “I,—that is,” he looked embarrassed, “I want a sort of a—well, a very confidential matter.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
There was no invitation to proceed, but Coe went on: “I want a secret entrance built—”