In the stillness of the place the big revolving door turned once
more, complainingly. For the thousandth time Jock's eyes
lifted heavily. Then they flew wide open. The drooping figure
straightened electrically. Half a dozen quick steps and Jock stood
in the pathway of Ben Griebler who, rather ruffled and untidy, had
blown in on the wings of the morning.

He stared a moment. "Well, what--"

"I've been waiting for you here since five o'clock last evening.
It will soon be five o'clock again. Will you let me show you those
plans now?"

Ben Griebler had surveyed Jock with the stony calm of the
out-of-town visitor who is prepared to show surprise at nothing in
New York.

"There's nothing like getting an early start," said Ben Griebler.
"Come on up to my room." Key in hand, he made for the elevator.
For an almost imperceptible moment Jock paused. Then, with a
little rush, he followed the short, thick-set figure. "I knew you
had it in you, McChesney. I said you looked like a comer, didn't
I?"

Jock said nothing. He was silent while Griebler unlocked his door,
turned on the light, fumbled at the windows and shades, picked up
the telephone receiver. "What'll you have?"

"Nothing." Jock had cleared the center table and was opening his