"Of course!" and he slapped his forehead, despising his own stupidity. "Cyprienne—she can, and must, manage this."
He proceeded to put back the papers into the secret drawer; he replaced the volume on the shelf, and, taking the telegram he had written in his hand, left the office, carefully locking the door behind him.
Hailing a cab, he was driven first to a telegraph-station, where he sent off his despatch, only adding the words:—
"Other important transactions in the shipping interest will shortly be undertaken; more precise details will speedily follow."
Then he directed the cabman to drive to Thistle Grove, Brompton.
"Is Mrs. Wilders visible yet?" he asked the servant, on reaching her house.
"Madame does not receive so early," replied the man, a foreigner, speaking broken English, who was new to the establishment, and had never seen Mr. Hobson before.
"Take in my name!" said Mr. Hobson, peremptorily. "It is urgent, say. I must see her at once."
"I will tell madame's maid."
"Do so, and look sharp about it. Don't trouble about me—be off and tell the maid. I know my way;" and Mr. Hobson marched himself into the morning-room.