“Who is it?” asked Mauleverer, amused.
“Belle Yorke’s brother.”
The footman threw open the door. With perfect self-control, with a beautiful unconsciousness of whether he was announcing a member of the royal family or a detective with a warrant for his master’s arrest, he uttered the words:
“Mr. Yorke.”
The captain saw a rather undersized boy in knickerbockers, with his fists tightly clenched and a flush of excitement on his cheeks, who walked boldly into the centre of the room, and there stood still.
Hammond, who had already risen, went towards the boy with extended hand. Mr. Yorke drew back, and kept his own hands down by his side.
“I’d rather not shake hands with you, please, Mr. Hammond.”
The man started, and dropped his hand with a strange look.
“Will you sit down?” he asked, quietly.
“I’d rather not, please.”