At 7:45 o’clock in the evening Sarah, the pretty housemaid at the residence of Cyrus Felton, answers a sharp ring at the door bell. In the semi-darkness of the vine-shaded porch she distinguishes only the outlines of a man who stands well back from the door. The gas has not yet been lighted in the hall.
“Is Mr. Felton at home?” inquires the visitor.
“The young or the old Mr. Felton?”
“The young or the old?” repeats the man to himself.
Sarah twists the door-knob impatiently. “Well?” she says.
“I beg your pardon; I was not aware that there were two Mr. Feltons. I believe the elder is the person I wish to see.”
“He is not at home.”
“He is in town?”
“Oh, yes. He went down-street about 7 o’clock, but we expect him back before long.”
“Would he be likely to be at his office?”