Chapter Twenty Four.
A Strange Visitor.
General Harding’s butler, with the assistance of the footman had just carried out the supper-tray when there came a ring at the hall-door bell, succeeded by a double knock. Neither were of the kind which the butler would have called “obtropolous,” but rather bashful and subdued. For all that they were heard within the room where the General sat.
“Very odd, at this hour of night,” remarked the General. “Ten o’clock,” he said, consulting his chronometer. “Who can it be?”
No one made a reply, as all were engrossed in listening. They heard the opening of the door, and then a parley between Williams upon the step, and somebody outside in the porch. It lasted some time longer than need have been necessary for a visitor who was a friend of the family. The voice, too, answering the butler’s, was evidently that of a stranger, and, as the occupants of the dining-room thought, one who spoke with a foreign accent.
The General bethought him, whether it might not be some of his old chums freshly arrived home from India, and who had come down sans cérémonie by a late train. But, then, he could think of none of them with a foreign accent.
“Who is it, Williams?” asked he, as the latter appeared in the doorway of the dining-room.
“That I can’t tell, General. The gentleman, if I may so call ’im, will neither give his name nor his card. He says he has most important business, and must see you.”
“Very odd! What does he look like?”
“Like a furraner, and a rum ’un at that. Certain, General, he arn’t a gentleman; that can be seen plain enough.”
“Very odd!” again repeated the General. “Very odd! Says he must see me?”
“Sayed it over and over, that it’s important more to you than him. Shall I show him in, General, or will you speak to him at the door?”
“Door be damned!” testily replied the old soldier. “I’m not going out there to accommodate a stranger, without either name or card. May be some begging-letter impostor. Tell him I can’t see him to-night. He may come back in the morning.”
“I’ve told him so, General, already. He says no; you must see him to-night.”
“Must! The devil!”
“Well, General, if I’d be allowed to speak my opinion, he looks a good bit like that same gentleman you’ve mentioned.”
“Who the deuce can it be, Nigel?” said the old soldier, turning to his son.
“I haven’t the slightest idea myself,” was Nigel’s reply. “It wouldn’t be that Lawyer Woolet? He answers very well to the description Williams gives of his late intruder.”
“No, no, Master Nigel, it’s not Mr Woolet. It’s an article of hoomanity even uglier than him; though certain he have got something o’ a lawyer’s look about him. But then he be a furriner; I can swear to that.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed the General, using one of his mildest asseverations. “I can’t think of any foreigner that can have business with me; but whether or no, I suppose I must see him. What say you, my son?”
“Oh, as for that,” answered the latter, “there can be no harm in it. I’ll stay in the room with you; and if he becomes troublesome, I suppose, with the help of Williams here and the footman, we may be able to eject him.”
“Lor, Master Nigel, he isn’t bigger than our page-boy. I could take him up in my arms, and swing him hallway across the shrubberies. You needn’t have no fear ’bout that.”
“Come, come, Williams,” said the General, “none of this idle talking. Tell the gentleman I’ll see him. Show him in.”
Then, turning to his sister, he added—
“Nelly dear, you may as well go up to the drawing-room. Nigel and I will join you as soon as we’ve given an interview to this unexpected guest.”
The spinster, gathering up some crochet-work that she had made a commencement on, sailed out of the room—leaving her brother and nephew to receive the nocturnal caller, who would not be denied.