CHAPTER V
Counsel for the Defence
WHEN I opened the office door, twenty minutes later, I was surprised to find Godfrey just within, in close conference with Mr. Royce.
“Here he is!” he cried. “No, no; don’t take off your coat; don’t even take off your hat! Come along; it’s a mighty close thing now,” and he caught me by the arm.
“It’s all right, Lester,” said our junior, seeing my astonished countenance. “Mr. Godfrey will explain on the way out.”
That was enough; I needed no second bidding, and ran after Godfrey to the elevator. At the curb a cab was waiting, and we jumped into it.
“James Slip,” called Godfrey, and in an instant we were off.
The driver seemed to realise the need of haste, for we bumped over the paving-stones at a prodigious rate, threading the dirty streets of the Italian and Jewish quarters, and finally pulling up with a whirl in the shadow of Brooklyn bridge.
“Come on!” cried Godfrey, and we crossed the ferry-house at a jump, slammed our tickets into the chopper, and sprang aboard the boat just as it was casting loose.
“That was a close shave,” said Godfrey, sinking into the nearest seat and taking off his hat.
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