The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the street, close bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes closed against the sun. A solitary figure strode rapidly across it.
“There’s that bug-hunting fellow again,” said Mr. Brewster. “He’s an American, I guess,—God save the mark! Nobody seems to be interfering with him, and he’s freaky enough looking to start a riot on Broadway.”
Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the door, asking to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately slipped out of the room to the patio, followed by Carroll and Cluff.
“My business, probably,” remarked Mr. Brewster. “I’ll just stay and see.” And he stayed.
So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well not have been there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The scientist, disregarding him wholly, shook hands with Sherwen.
“Have you heard from Wisner yet?”
“Yes. An hour ago.”
“What was his message?”
“All right, any time to-day.”
“Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to-morrow morning.”