CHAPTER VI 

THE ECHO OF A CRIME 

"Macheson, by Jove! Where on earth have you sprung from?" 

Holderness threw down his pen and held out both his hands. Macheson drew a long sigh of relief. 

"From the pigsties, Dick. Whew! It's good to see you again--to be here!" 

Holderness surveyed his friend critically. 

"What have you been up to?" he asked. "Look washed out, as though you'd had a fever or something. I've been expecting to see you every day." 

"I've been on a pleasure trip to Paris," Macheson answered. "Don't talk about it, for God's sake." 

Holderness roared with laughter. 

"You poor idiot!" he exclaimed. "Been on the razzle-dazzle, I believe. I wish I'd known. I'd have come." 

"It's all very well to laugh," Macheson answered. "I feel like a man who's been living in a sewer." 

"Are you cured?" Holderness asked abruptly. 

Macheson hesitated. As yet he had not dared to ask himself that question. Holderness watched the struggle in his face. 

"I'm sorry I asked you that," he said quietly. "Look here! I know what you've come to me for, and I can give it you. You can start at once if you like." 

"Work?" Macheson asked eagerly. "You mean that?" 

"Of course! Tons of it! Henwood's at his wits' end in Stepney. He's started lecturing, and the thing's taken on, but he can't go on night after night. We don't want anything second-rate either. Then I want help with the paper." 

"I'll help you with the paper as soon as you like," Macheson declared. "I'd like to go to Stepney, too, but could we hit it, Henwood and I?" 
Did he consider Macheson to be first-rate?
We don't want anything second-rate either