Daily Messenger The Rolls-Royce pulled up by a side entrance to the Messenger building, and Lord Sanderlake was out of it before it had properly stopped. He slipped on the frozen snow, nearly fell on his face, recovered himself, then hurtled through the doorway as if powered by jet-propulsion, and the force with which he threw himself into his private elevator all but jerked the cables off their pulleys. He slammed the gates shut and, as he rode upstairs, took one more glance at the Evening Post to keep his anger at boiling-point.
Messenger Evening Post Dora Nutt, his principal secretary, was in his office when he erupted into it and as he struggled out of his overcoat he told her to get Digby Cox on the telephone.
Dora gazed at him coolly. “Mr. Cox is here,” she told him. “He’s waiting
