Читать книгу The Green Archer онлайн

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"I haven't seen any newspaper men," said Julius sullenly. "What shall I tell him?"

"Tell him to go to—here, send him up." If he did not see the reporter, he'd probably invent something, thought the old man. And he was just a little scared of newspapers. It was a newspaper that had made the fuss in Falmouth.

Presently Julius ushered in the visitor.

"You needn't wait," snapped Bellamy, and when his secretary had gone, he growled: "Have a cigar?"

He flung the box on to the table as a man might throw a bone to a dog.

"Thanks, Mr. Bellamy," said Spike coolly, "but I never smoke millionaires' cigars. It makes me sort of dissatisfied with my own."

"Well, what do you want?" rasped Bellamy, looking at the red-haired reporter through narrowed lids.

"There's a story around that there's a ghost in Garre Castle, Mr. Bellamy—a Green Archer."

"It's a lie," said the other promptly—too promptly, in fact. If he had shown any indifference to the suggestion, Spike might have been deceived. The very promptitude of the denial gave him for the first time an interest in the story.