"No—it's his private secretary that was killed." And with his eyes still on the paper, "No, wait. There's more. Wilkinson is held in three-quarter of a million bail. I heard this morning that he was indicted, but I never expected—— And, Cæsar's ghost! They've locked him up in the Tombs and in default of bail. That's rough!"
"My dear Beekman," grinned Witheridge, "don't you see that it's all a game—all but the killing? Say that you'll take the case, then I can go on—tell you the rest."
But whatever would have been Eliot's decision at that moment, he was not permitted to give it utterance. For just then he heard some one calling out his name; and, glancing up, he saw a boy approaching him with a telegram in his hand.
"Mr. Beekman?" asked the boy.
Beekman took the message, which said:
Eliot Beekman, Esq.,
Hotel Iroquois, Buffalo, N. Y.
You are retained in People vs. Wilkinson as counsel for defence. Take the first train for New York.
Morehead.
After grasping its contents, Beekman quickly passed it over to his host with the one word: "Read." And then he added: