"Pshaw," he said, looking up and down the street, "what am I worrying about? Got that Dale Wacker on my mind, and it has upset me. Markham is probably chatting with Bob Haven. Well, I've gone so far, I'll step over to the printing office and see."
Frank walked rapidly to the principal street, and up the flight of stairs in a business block to Haven Bros.'s office.
As he entered he noticed all hands busy at cases and presses. Bob, shirt sleeves rolled up, was working on some chases on an imposing stone. Darry was reading proof at his desk.
But there was no Markham. Frank experienced a sensation of dread for which he could not account. He tried to keep cool, but the first word he spoke as he approached Darry made the latter look up quickly.
"Got the money I sent you, Darry?" asked Frank.
"Why, no—did you send it?"
"Yes—over half-an-hour ago."
"Who by?"
"Markham."
"Oh, then, he*s doing some other errand first," said Darry. "Sit down, If you're going to wait for him."
