But he had promised Lady Sannox to see her that evening and it was already half-past eight. His hand was outstretched to the bell to order the carriage when he heard the dull thud of the knocker. An instant later there was the shuffling of feet in the hall, and the sharp closing of a door.
“A patient to see you, sir, in the consulting-room,” said the butler.
“About himself?”
“No, sir; I think he wants you to go out.”
“It is too late,” cried Douglas Stone peevishly. “I won’t go.”
“This is his card, sir.”
The butler presented it upon the gold salver which had been given to his master by the wife of a Prime Minister.
“‘Hamil Ali, Smyrna.’ Hum! The fellow is a Turk, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir. He seems as if he came from abroad, sir. And he’s in a terrible way.”
“Tut, tut! I have an engagement. I must go somewhere else. But I’ll see him. Show him in here, Pim.”