“I thought you were going to square up to-morrow, sir,” the man said.
“So did I,” responded Brunow; “but I've as much chance of that now as you have of being Emperor of China. Go on; I'm quite ready.”
There was a trifling difficulty with the catch of the outer door, with which both Hinge and myself had long been familiar, and which we now surmounted with perfect ease. It bothered Brunow and the stranger, however, for I heard them both fumbling at the lock, and at last Hinge, hearing also, left his little bedroom on the landing and came to their assistance.
Then the door was opened, and with a cry of “Goodbye, Fyffe!” to which I returned no answer, Brunow went away in charge of his business friend.
At the first opening of the outer door the cold wind of the spring night came into the room with a burst, and scattered a handful of papers about the floor. I busied myself in picking these up again, but finding that the hall-door was still open, I called out to Hinge to close it. He delayed until I had repeated my order in an angry tone, and then, having closed the door, he came into my room with a hurried and excited look.
“Beg pardon for keeping the door open, sir,” said Hinge, “but I've just seen something rather curious.”
“Never mind that now,” I answered. “Go to bed. I shall not want you any more to-night.”
“No, sir,” said Hinge. “If you'll excuse me, sir, this is something very important.”
He was not wont to be troublesome, but after all the events of that strange night I was fairly unsettled and pretty well out of temper. I snapped at Hinge, telling him to go and not to bother me with any nonsense just then.
“Got to tell you this, sir,” said Hinge, standing at attention, and looking straight before him. Even then it was with no sense of importance in the matter he had to communicate that I listened to him.