Buchanan Ogilvy, Hotel Sequoia, Sequoia, Calif.
Also, with a keen eye to minor details, lie noted that it had been
filed at San Francisco SUBSEQUENT to Ogilvy's visit to him that
afternoon.
"Ah-h-h!" breathed His Honour. "That accounts for his failure to
bring the matter up at our interview. Upon his return to the hotel he
found this telegram and got busy at once. By Jupiter, this looks like
business. Henry, how did you come into possession of this telegram?"
"It must have been mixed up in the documents Ogilvy left with me. I
found it on my desk when I was sorting out the papers, and in my
capacity of attorney for the N.C.O. I had no hesitancy in reading
it."
"Well, I do declare! Wonder who Hockley is. Never heard of that
fellow in connection with the N.C.O."
"Hockley doesn't matter," young Henry declared triumphantly,
"although I'd bet a hat he's one of those heavy-weight Wall Street
fellows and one of J.P.M's vice-presidents, probably. J.P.M., of
course, is the man behind."
"Who the devil is J.P.M.?"
Henry smiled tolerantly upon his ignorant and guileless parent.
"Well, how would J. Pierpont Morgan do for a guess?" he queried.
"Hell's bells and panther-tracks!" Mayor Poundstone started as if
snake-bitten. "I should say you have hooked a big fish.
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