Loft's social terminology was exact. When he said a "person" he did not mean a "gentleman"—who was a gentleman—nor a "man"—who was a member of the definitely lower orders of the community; he meant somebody in between, one of the doubtful cases.
"A Mr. Powers, sir. He's been here perhaps half an hour."
It may readily be supposed that I had not forgotten the name of Powers; the name and the incident were irrevocably—and uncomfortably—fixed in my mind. This "person" might not be the same Powers, but in overwhelming probability he was. Even if Jenny had not been in communication with him—and I did not believe that she had—the paragraphs would easily have brought about this visit—or visitation. He came scenting prey—he had read of the heiress! But why had she let him in?
"Did he give you a card, Loft?"
"Yes, sir. I took it in, and Miss Driver told me to ask the person to come in."
If it were not material, neither was it necessary to ask what Loft thought about the matter. Plainly Mr. Powers was not up to his standard for drawing-room visitors.
"Have you got the card?"
He took it from the hall table. "Mr. Nelson Powers." There was no address.
"All right, Loft. But before I join them, I want to telephone to London." Of course Mr. Driver had installed a telephone, and many a day we had kept it very busy.
By luck I got into speedy communication with Cartmell at his hotel. He heard my news. His answer was to the point: "Kick him out."