“Leave it to Mr. Masters,” suggested Kirke.
“Why not leave it to the horse?”
The suggestion, coming in a level and unconcerned tone from the depths of the chair in which Banneker was seated, produced an electrical effect. Banneker spoke only because the elderly member had walked over to the window, and he saw that he must be discovered in another moment. Out of the astonished silence came the elderly member’s voice, gentle and firm.
“Are you the visitor we have been so frankly discussing?”
“I assume so.”
“Isn’t it rather unfortunate that you did not make your presence known sooner?”
“I hoped that I might have a chance to slip out unseen and save you embarrassment.”
The other came forward at once with hand outstretched. “My name is Forster,” he said. “You’re Mr. Banker, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Banneker, shaking hands. For various reasons it did not seem worth while to correct the slight error.
“Look out! Here’s the old man,” said some one.