"Yes," she replied in the next breath, the flush of joy still on her face.
"Then do so, please." His voice was hoarse now. "And bring them to me here wrapped up in brown paper. You understand that nobody must know about this. You know what it would mean to me, to you, to Challoner ..."
"Yes, yes," she cried eagerly, and held out her hand. "It's an agreement."
But Murgatroyd purposely ignored her hand and abruptly turned away, saying:—
"This matter must be closed at once."
And with a confident "I'll be back in half an hour," Mrs. Challoner passed out of the door, which Murgatroyd had softly and noiselessly unlocked.
The man who presently was brought out of the barred ante-room and taken before the prosecutor might have been anything from a floor-walker of a big department store to a manager of a renowned rathskeller. It was evident from the manner in which he bore himself while under the constant surveillance of the minions of the law, that he was perfectly at home in the presence of strangers, and that unusual situations did not feaze him. In the matter of general adornment of the person, however, Pemmican of the low brow was an exception to his class: no diamond blazed from his shirt-front or fingers; moreover, he was dressed in the most sombre of blacks, and under his soft felt hat of the same colour the hair was brushed forward with scrupulous care. The long, thin, smooth-shaven face, the little, deep-set eyes, the abnormally low brow, which was accentuated by this odd arrangement of his hair, the pasty complexion, all gave one the impression of dignified sleekness. In other words, one could easily have pictured the man as performing in a most impressive manner the last offices needed by man here below. To sum up, the attitude of the man now waiting for the prosecutor to address him—Pemmican of the low brow always knew his place—produced the effect of distressed meekness.
"Pemmican," said Murgatroyd, all geniality and good-fellowship now, "how are they treating you?" And then, with a chuckle: "You look peaked, my man!"
It was second nature to Pemmican to swallow his indignation and simulate cheerfulness, but he answered peevishly:—