towards them, already out of breath as though with much hurrying, was a thick-set, powerful man, with the brutal face and coarse lips of a prizefighter; a beard cropped so short as to seem the growth of a few days only covered his chin, and his moustache, treated in the same way, was not thick enough to conceal a cruel mouth. He was carefully enough dressed, and a great diamond flashed from his tie. There was a red mark round his forehead where his hat had been, and the perspiration was streaming from his forehead. He strode without hesitation to the table where Mr. Sabin and his guest were sitting, and without even a glance at the former turned upon his myrmidon.
“Where’s that report?” he cried roughly. “Where is it?”
Mr. Skinner seemed to have shrunk into a smaller man. He pointed across the table.
“I’ve given it to him,” he said. “What’s wrong, boss?”
The newcomer raised his hand as though to strike Skinner. He gnashed his teeth with the effort to control himself.
“You damned blithering idiot,” he said hoarsely, gripping the side of the table. “Why wasn’t it presented to me first?”
“Guess it didn’t seem worth while,” Skinner answered. “There’s nothing in the darned thing.”
“You ignorant fool, hold your tongue,” was the fierce reply.
The newcomer sank into a chair and wiped the perspiration from his streaming forehead. Mr. Sabin signaled to a waiter.
“You seem upset, Mr. Horser,” he remarked politely. “Allow me to offer you a glass of wine.”
Mr. Horser did not immediately reply, but he accepted the glass which the waiter brought him, and after a moment’s hesitation drained its contents. Then he turned to Mr. Sabin.
“You said nothing about those letters you had had when you came to see me this morning!”
“It was you yourself,” Mr. Sabin reminded him, “who begged me not to enter into particulars. You sent me on to Mr. Skinner. I told him everything.”
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