Kornicker nodded.
'It's strange,' muttered he, 'quite strange.'
'D—d strange,' said Kornicker, burying his face in a huge coffee-cup, 'but true,' continued he, setting it down.
'True,' repeated Harson; 'true that you are in his employ; are in the habit of daily intercourse with him; attend to his concerns; see him constantly, and yet do not know who he is?'
'Partly correct, partly incorrect,' quoth Mr. Kornicker, pushing his cup away. 'I'm in his employ—correct. I know nothing of him; correct again. As to the rest—incorrect. Sometimes, I don't see him for weeks; sometimes I have something to do—often nothing. I never know when he's going, or when he's coming back.'
Harson stood quiet for some time. 'This is all very strange. Don't you know who are his acquaintances, or associates?'
Kornicker shook his head.
'Who comes to see him?'
'Nobody.'
'Do you never hear him speak of any one?'