Steps approached him. He got up from the
chair and faced them, Gainor and the sheriff. The sheriff had
instinctively put on his hat, like a man who does not understand the open
air with an uncovered head. But Gainor was uncovered, and his white hair
glimmered.
He was a tall, courtly old fellow. His ceremonious address had won him
much political influence. Men said that Gainor was courteous to a dog,
not because he respected the dog, but because he wanted to practice for a
man. He had always the correct rejoinder, always did the right thing. He
had a thin, stern face and a hawk nose that gave him a cast of ferocity
in certain aspects.
It was to him that Terry addressed himself.
"Mr. Gainor," he said, "I'm sorry to have sent in a false message. But my
business is very urgent, and I have a very particular reason for not
wishing to have it known that I have called you out."
The moment he rose out of the chair and faced them, Gainor had stopped
short. He was quite capable of fast thinking, and now his glance
flickered from Terry to the sheriff and back again. It was plain that he
had shrewd suspicions as to the purpose behind that call.
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