"I—I beg pardon," he stammered.
"Well?" demanded the stranger.
"I expected to find Mr. Hartson," explained Galbraithe.
"Hartson?"
"I used to be on the staff and—"
"Guess you're in the wrong office," the stranger shut him off abruptly.
For a moment Galbraithe believed this was possible, but every scarred bit of furniture was in its place and the dusty clutter of papers in the corner had not been disturbed. The new city editor glanced suspiciously toward Galbraithe's dress suit case and reached forward as though to press a button. With flushed cheeks Galbraithe retreated, and hurried down the corridor toward the reportorial rooms. He must find Billy Bertram and get the latter to square him with the new city editor. He made at once for Billy Bertram's desk, with hand extended. Just beyond was the desk he himself had occupied for so long. Bertram looked up and then Galbraithe saw that it was not Bertram at all.
"What can I do for you, old man?" the stranger inquired. He was a fellow of about Bertram's age, and a good deal of Bertram's stamp.
"I'm looking for Billy Bertram," stammered Galbraithe. "Guess he must have shifted his desk."
He glanced hopefully at the other desks in the room but he did not recognize a face.