At ten o’clock on the evening of the twenty-second, the groom came out of the area gate. He knew, and the Lees knew, that no one would be going home for an hour, but he obeyed his orders to be on hand at that time in order to open the carriage doors, and generally speed the parting guest. He had already unrolled the red carpet down the entire length of the steps, and was walking up and down, debating whether he could squeeze in another five minutes for an extra plate of ice-cream (the cook was his aunt), when his attention was attracted to an approaching figure. It was that of a tall man in not ill fitting blue serge clothes, but, though the month was March, and a cold March at that, he seemed to feel no embarrassment over the fact that he wore a Panama hat of large, of almost blatant, variety. The groom counted up—at least two months before such a head-gear was even permissible. He had never supposed that such ignorant human beings existed.
At this point his scorn was changed to surprise by observing that the barbarian was actually ascending the Lees’ step, treading lightly upon the red carpet. The butler opened the door promptly with smiling grace. He had observed Miss Lewis among the guests, and knew her maid—a vivacious French-woman. His manner grew sterner when a stranger in a Panama hat asked for Mr. Lee. His gaze, starting at the Panama hat, sank slowly to the newcomer’s feet, noting on the way the pair of saddle-bags so casually held.
“Mr. Lee is entertaining friends at dinner,” he said coldly.
“Still eating at ten o’clock?” returned the stranger.
“No, sir. The gentlemen have just joined the ladies in the drawing-room.”
“Tell Mr. Lee I should like to see him,” said the other, and stepped, without invitation, inside the door. Plimpton, who in the natural course of his profession had become something of a judge of men, looked at the stranger critically, and came to the conclusion he was not a thief. Further than this he refused to go.
“What name shall I say?” he inquired, and was confirmed in his fears when the stranger answered,
“No name. Say I have a message from his son.”
Plimpton bowed very slightly. Be sure he knew all about the scandal about Mr. Robert. His curiosity was so much aroused that a weaker man would have mounted the stairs with a quickened tread. Not Plimpton. He rose grandly from step to step like a swimmer breasting slow waves.
Arrived at the top, he stood a minute in the doorway, fixing his employer with his eye, as one who would say, “Yes, it is true that I have important news, but do not be alarmed; you are in safe hands.”