The effect was extraordinary. The ageless face looked as if it did not know how to conform to or mirror any inward emotion; and furthermore, one was never precisely positive whether or not the pale eyes were following one, for they somehow, in their uncertain fixedness, suggested the idea that they were windows behind which the real eyes were incessantly vigilant. So it was when Stodger introduced him; I could not tell whether he was watching me or my colleague—or, in truth, whether he was watching either of us.
"Mr. Burke, Mr. Swift," said Stodger, with a grand air—"Mr. Alexander Stilwell Burke." Then, in a hoarse aside to me:
"Little matter I want to look after; just 'tend to it while you two are talking."
CHAPTER II
THE PRIVATE SECRETARY
Stodger at once left us together, having, I surmised, his own method of getting into the curtained alcove of which he had spoken. In order that he should have ample time to reach it, I held Burke with a question or two in the hall.
"Mr. Burke," said I, "who besides yourself and Mr. Page was in the house last night?"
He replied promptly, but with a deliberate precision, as if he were making a weighty confidential communication, and wanted to be exceedingly careful to convey an exact interpretation of his thoughts.
I might now add that this cautious, reflective manner characterized all his speech, and in time it grew extremely aggravating.