A tall, thin old man came down the passage and opened the front door. He looked me over in a kindly way. I had an idea he was pricing my suit and wishing he could buy me something a little better that wouldn’t disgrace the house. But I was probably wrong. He may not even have been thinking about me.
‘Mrs. Dedrick is expecting me.’
‘The name, sir?’
‘Malloy.’
He still stood squarely in the doorway.
‘Have you a card, please?’
"Well, yes, and I have a birthmark too. Remind me to show it to you one of these days.’
He tittered politely like an aged uncle out to have fun with his sister’s young hopeful.
‘So many gentlemen of the Press have tried to see Mrs. Dedrick. We have to take precautions, sir.’
I had an idea I would be standing there till next summer if I didn’t show him my card, so I got out my bill-fold and showed him my card: the non-business one.