"Excuse me, Sir—it is not a visitor, Sir. It's a person who tried to come in the front way, shovin' and elbowin' 'is way in along with the guests as if 'ee was a regular caller, sir. The policeman collared 'im, thinkin' 'ee was up to no good. You can never tell, sir. Sometimes they're arter the coats and umbrellas, sir. But the feller said you 'ad written him, sir, to come 'ere. So the policeman let 'im go. But we wouldn't let him come in the front way, Sir. We hustled 'im in through the tradesmen's entrance, and 'ee's down-stairs now. James is lookin' arter the silver, Sir, so there ain't no danger, there, Sir."
"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Harmon. "A person of that description says that I wrote him to come here. He must be an impostor. Throw him out—have him arrested."
The butler gave a grin of self-satisfaction. Rubbing his hands, he said:
"That's wot I thought, Sir. Leave 'im to me, Sir. We'll take care of 'im, Sir."
He was about to retire when Mr. Harmon suddenly had an idea.
"Can it possibly be——" he muttered to himself. "It must be he." Turning to the butler he went on: "Here, Hawkins, don't say a word to any one—particularly not to my daughter. Take the man to my library. I'll be down at once."
Astonished, and also hurt, that his employer should have acquaintances whose appearance necessitated their being ushered in through the tradesman's entrance, the butler withdrew.
After greeting a few more arrivals and responding to a toast to his daughter in a glass of champagne, at the buffet-table besieged by a hungry and noisy crowd, Mr. Harmon slipped away unobserved and made his way to the library.