'No.'
'Good!' replied Rust, abruptly. 'Any thing else?'
'No. If you're done with me, I'll get my breakfast.'
'Go.'
Kornicker departed, and Rust relapsed into his old attitude, occasionally biting his nails, or passing his fingers through his matted hair, or casting a suspicious glance toward the door.
Half an hour had passed, and Rust was absorbed in his own dreams, when he was startled by a heavy step at his door. He sat up in his chair, and listened attentively, holding his breath. There was something in that step which he did not like. It was calm, slow, and deliberate. He hoped that it would pass on, but it did not. Two hard knocks at the door followed.
'Come in,' said Rust, without rising.
The door opened, and Harson and Holmes entered. Still Rust sat where he was, with his black eyes peering from beneath his heavy brows, and glancing from face to face.
'I'm seeking a Mr. Rust,' said Harson, advancing.
'That's me. My name is Rust,' was the laconic answer.