Matt sprang up. Brady came into the room with an easy air and gave vent to a short laugh.
He was quite a different looking man when out of his greasy overclothes, but there was no doubting his identity. Matt's fist had left a bruise on the side of Brady's face, and the spot was covered with a square of court-plaster.
"Surprised?" queried Brady, dropping into a chair.
Before seating himself he was careful to draw the chair in front of the hall door.
"Were you the one who sent me that telegram?" asked Matt.
"Guilty!" was the chuckling response. "You were expecting to meet Jerrold, eh? I was a little in doubt as to whether you'd bite at the bait, but took a chance. You're a mighty accommodating young fellow, King. Why, you came all the way out here, at this time of night, just to give Jerrold those papers! Didn't it strike you as being a little bit queer that Jerrold should have asked you to come and see him when it was his business to go and see you? And then, again, how did you think Jerrold got hold of your name and address? Oh, well, you've a lot to learn yet, my lad."
"I'm learning you pretty fast, Brady," said Matt. "You have fooled me, but you've gained nothing by it."
"I think I have," was the other's cool reply.
"You'll not get that bundle of papers."
"No? Haven't you got them with you?"