"I'm not going to divvy up, as you call it, just yet—not just yet," he replied, pointedly.
Broderick shut his eyes and digested the glance and the reply. Both seemed to satisfy him, for he nodded genially.
Rising now, and sitting lazily across one corner of his desk, Murgatroyd turned his attention to Thorne.
"I wanted to have a talk," he said casually, "with the man who owns Cradlebaugh's."
Thorne looked about the room, then he inquired innocently:—
"He doesn't seem to have arrived as yet—where is he?"
Murgatroyd blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, and answered:—
"Oh, yes he has—his name is Graham Thorne." Murgatroyd could see the pallor of Thorne's face turn to a deeper white; he could feel that the ruddiness upon the countenance of Broderick had deepened into scarlet.
There was a pause. After a moment, Thorne rose and said indignantly:—
"Say that again!"