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contingent. Naturally, he felt some curiosity about Mr. Treat. There were voices in the corridor now, and doors opened and banged shut. Clif retreated to a window seat, took one foot in his hands—noting approvingly that the brown leather shoe chimed in harmoniously with the surroundings—and waited. Then the door of Number 17 opened, swinging inward leisurely and with a certain dignity, and the end of an immaculate black suit case came into sight.
