“If times don’t change,” Gibbs said with an air of gloom, “I’m going into the police department.”
He turned about to see if the steps he heard at the door were those of the man he had come to see. He breathed relief when he saw it was only Peter, the doorkeeper.
“Mr. Duncan,” said the man, “Miss Ethel Cartwright has just ’phoned that she’s on her way and would be here in fifteen minutes.”
Gibbs looked from one to the other with his accustomed mild interest. He could see that the news of which he could make little had excited Duncan. It was evidently something important. Directly the doorkeeper had gone Duncan called his chief on the telephone and Gibbs sauntered nearer the ’phone. To hear both sides of the conversation would make it much easier.
“Got a cigar, Jim?” he inquired casually of the other, who was holding the wire.
“Yes,” said Duncan, taking one from his pocket.
Gibbs reached a fat hand over for it, “Thanks,” he returned simply.
Duncan bit the end off and put it in his own mouth. “And I’m going to smoke it myself,” he observed.
Gibbs shook his head reprovingly at this want of generosity and took a cigar from his own pocket. “All right then; I’ll have to smoke one of my own.”
Just then Duncan began to speak over the wire. “Hello. Hello, Chief. Miss Ethel Cartwright just ’phoned she’d be here in fifteen minutes.... Yes, sir.... I’ll have her wait.”