"Then you know him?" he asks eager.
"Ought to," says I. "He's my boss. Corrugated Trust is what you should have looked under."
"Ah, yes; I remember now," says he. "Corrugated Trust—that's the part I'd forgotten. Then perhaps you can tell me just where—"
"I could," says I, "but it wouldn't do you a bit of good. He's got appointments up to 1:15. After that he'll be taking two hours off for luncheon—if he comes back at all. Better make a date for to-morrow or next day."
The solid gent looks disappointed.
"I had hoped I might find him to-day," says he. "It—it's rather important."
At which I sizes him up a little closer. Sort of a carrot blond, this gent is, with close-cropped pale red hair, about the ruddiest neck you ever saw off a turkey gobbler, and a face that's so freckled it looks crowded. The double-breasted blue serge coat and the blue flannel shirt with the black sailor tie gives me a hunch, though. Maybe he's one of Mr. Robert's yacht captains.
"What name?" says I.
"Killam," says he. "Rupert Killam."
"Sounds bloodthirsty," says I. "Cap'n, eh?"