"I believe you can—like a cat," he said, and carried the card with him.
In a few minutes—in a very few minutes—the door opened and Scrivell entered.
He looked wofully thin and emaciated, was dressed in an old but still respectable suit of black, and might have been taken for an old man but for the sharp, alert look in his gray eyes, and the sandy hair, which showed no signs of gray.
Jasper was sitting before his dressing-table opening his letters, which he had carried in from the other room.
"Oh, here you are," he said. "I want you to go out."
Scrivell nodded.
"Do you know King's Hotel, Covent Garden?" asked Jasper.
"King's? Yes, sir."
"Well, I want you to go down there."
He paused, but he might have known the man would not express any surprise.