At the end of that period I was perfectly self-confident and anxious to commence my task. I was compelled, however, by force of circumstance, to postpone the battle for awhile, because Mr. Stelfox Steele had unexpectedly arrived in London. He came, according to the papers—which were full of him—to instal one of his co-adjutor millionaires, named Sampson Y. May, as supreme head of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited, during his temporary absence in South America, whither he proposed to proceed immediately, in order to purchase some large tracts of wolfram-bearing territory, whose control he needed for the perfection of the trust he was then engaged in forming.
I was at first disgusted at the delay, but not for long. Something caught me by the throat and said to me: "You fool, here is the opportunity of your life. Contrive to see the man, and then you will be better able to secure your chances of impersonating him successfully."
To think was to act. It was then early morning. By ten o'clock I would have passed muster anywhere as a good-looking, languid, idle, elderly clubman. I wore a grey moustache, and side levers; a slightly darker wig and a monocle. I was, in fact, Lord Algernon Darnley. A "while you wait" printer inscribed the name upon some pasteboards, armed with which, I drove to the office of the Anglo-American Hotels Limited.
My card was deferentially received, but a polite secretary informed me that it would be impossible for the magnate to see me without a prearranged appointment.
"I have one," I drawled, unabashed by the rebuff, "Mr. Steele particularly requested me, through a common acquaintance, to call."
The secretary departed and returned. "Mr. Steele is exceedingly busy," he declared. "He will be glad if you will state your business to me."
"It's private," I said calmly. "I won't keep him long. I have a document to give him, that's all, but it's got to be placed in his hands."
I was requested to wait five minutes. I waited an hour, and was at last ushered to the great man's presence.
My first thought was: "How like his photographs!" But he was a taller man than I by a good two inches. Gregson was quite right. He looked me in the eyes very straight and keenly, and he gave my hand an energetic squeeze.
"Are we acquainted?" he demanded, in sharp, incisive tones, and he immediately sat down, pointing briskly to a chair. "Now, what's your business?"