Sercomb had just been calling on some one in the building. Could it have been Colonel Plympton?
Matt, somewhat thoughtful because of this unexpected encounter, got into the elevator and rode to the fourth floor. In the ante-room of Colonel Plympton's office he gave his name to a boy, and the latter vanished through a door marked "private." The boy was back in about a minute.
"Colonel Plympton says he can't see you," was the report.
"If he's busy," returned Matt, "I'll wait until he can see me."
"It won't do you no good, see?" said the boy. "He don't want to see you. Ain't that plain enough?"
Matt hesitated for a moment. He knew something must have gone wrong or he would not have met with such a reception. Mr. Tomlinson, a good friend of Plympton's and of Matt's, had promised the young motorist that Plympton would give him a hearing.
"Was Ralph Sercomb just here?" asked Matt.
"Sure he was," answered the boy; "he's one of the colonel's men, an' he's here a good deal. Here! Where you goin'?"
Matt had started for the door of the private room. Paying no attention to the boy, he kept right on, opened the door and stepped into the inner office.
A tall man, with gray hair and mustache, was sitting at his desk reading a newspaper. He looked up as Matt entered.