“Jeremy Robson never went back on you! At least, not since war was probable. And—and your company is choking The Guardian to death with a contract dishonestly made by Senator Embree’s man, Verrall.”
“The devil! I beg your pardon, Marcia. Where did you learn these interesting facts—if they are facts?”
“From Mr. Galpin.”
“Oh! Hardly a disinterested witness.”
“Uncle Magnus, I wish you to promise me just one thing.”
“Not so foolish! What is it?”
“I wish you to go to the Library this evening—no matter how busy you are—and go over the files of The Guardian since last March.”
“I’ll do that much,” he agreed.
“Then you will do more,” said Marcia contentedly. That first day’s confabulation between Marcia and Galpin, the scope of which its object, Jeremy Robson, little suspected, was bearing fruit.