“Can’t see you,” repeated Austin.
“Oh, but really I must, you know,” said Miss Freeman, and made a sudden dive past the butler. With unerring instinct she made for the door of the sacred study, knocked, and forthwith entered.
The lion head looked up from behind a desk littered with papers. The lion eyes glared.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the lion roared. The small lady was, however, entirely unabashed. She smiled sweetly at the glowering face.
“I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” she said. “My name is Delicia Freeman.”
“Austin!” shouted the Professor. The butler’s impassive face appeared round the angle of the door. “What is this, Austin? How did this person get here?”
“I couldn’t keep her out,” wailed Austin. “Come miss, we’ve had enough of it.”
“No, no! You must not be angry—you really must not,” said the lady sweetly. “I was told that you were a perfectly terrible person, but really you are rather a dear.”
“Who are you? What do you want? Are you aware that I am one of the most busy men in London?”
Miss Freeman fished about in her bag once more. She was always fishing in that bag, extracting sometimes a leaflet on Armenia, sometimes a pamphlet on Greece, sometimes a note on Zenana Missions, and sometimes a psychic manifesto. On this occasion it was a folded bit of writing-paper which emerged.