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.
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