“You are aware that we hold Mr. Stanniford’s permission to open the door on the twenty-first birthday of his son?”
“I remember.”
“The twenty-first birthday is to-day.”
“Have you opened it?” I asked, eagerly.
“Not yet, sir,” said he, gravely. “I have reason to believe that it would be well to have witnesses present when that door is opened. You are a lawyer, and you are acquainted with the facts. Will you be present on the occasion?”
“Most certainly.”
“You are employed during the day, and so am I. Shall we meet at nine o’clock at the house?”
“I will come with pleasure.”
“Then you will find us waiting for you. Good-bye, for the present.” He bowed solemnly, and took his leave.
I kept my appointment that evening, with a brain which was weary with fruitless attempts to think out some plausible explanation of the mystery which we were about to solve. Mr. Perceval and my young acquaintance were waiting for me in the little room. I was not surprised to see the young man looking pale and nervous, but I was rather astonished to find the dry little City man in a state of intense, though partially suppressed, excitement. His cheeks were flushed, his hands twitching, and he could not stand still for an instant.