In the office doorway stood a stranger.
Whether he meant good or ill Roger did not know. But he swung sharply, about to demand the stranger’s right to intrude beyond the railing when he saw that the stenographer, Miss Murry, had sent him in.
Roger, taking him in, saw a short, bald-headed, thin gentleman in a frock coat, striped trousers and a high silk hat.
“I am looking for a Roger Brown,” the man studied the group. “The office girl thought I ought to find him in what she calls a dark-room up some stairs. Can you tell me?”
“I am Roger Brown, sir.”
Roger stepped forward.
“Can I see you in private?”
Roger saw that Doctor Ryder’s watch ornament, emblem of a secret fraternity, was flicking around again.
“S-a-y l-i-t-t-l-e,” it seemed to counsel.
“I can take you to my cousin’s private room, sir.” He nodded to show the doctor that he understood. “But I can say little about our work until my cousin is here.” He led the way to the private door. He had told the doctor that he caught the two words.