Sir John Maxell looked at him sharply.
“Alive? Of course. I thought you might have heard from him.”
Timothy shook his head.
“No, sir,” he said, “he disappeared. I only met him once when I was a kid. Was he a friend—er—an acquaintance of yours?”
Sir John was drumming his fingers on the desk and his mind was far away.
“Yes and no,” he said shortly. “I knew him, and at one time I was friendly with him.”
Suddenly he glanced at his watch, and a look of consternation came to his face.
“Great heavens!” he cried. “I promised to meet my wife a quarter of an hour ago. Good-bye! Good-bye!”
He hand-shook Timothy from the room and the young man had to find his way downstairs without guidance, because the manservant was at that moment heavily engaged.
From the floor below came a shrill, unpleasant sound, and Timothy descended to find himself in the midst of a domestic crisis. There were two ladies in the hall—one a mere silent, contained spectator, the other the principal actress. He recognised her at once, but she did not see him, because her attention was directed to the red-faced servant.