She left him, a little astonished and not a little ruffled.
To refuse the favours of Remington Kara was, by him, regarded as something of an affront. Half his quarrel with T. X. was that gentleman's curious indifference to the benevolent attitude which Kara had persistently adopted in his dealings with the detective.
He rang the bell, this time for his valet.
“Fisher,” he said, “I am expecting a visit from a gentleman named Gathercole—a one-armed gentleman whom you must look after if he comes. Detain him on some pretext or other because he is rather difficult to get hold of and I want to see him. I am going out now and I shall be back at 6.30. Do whatever you can to prevent him going away until I return. He will probably be interested if you take him into the library.”
“Very good, sir,” said the urbane Fisher, “will you change before you go out?”
Kara shook his head.
“I think I will go as I am,” he said. “Get me my fur coat. This beastly cold kills me,” he shivered as he glanced into the bleak street. “Keep my fire going, put all my private letters in my bedroom, and see that Miss Holland has her lunch.”
Fisher followed him to his car, wrapped the fur rug about his legs, closed the door carefully and returned to the house. From thence onward his behaviour was somewhat extraordinary for a well-bred servant. That he should return to Kara's study and set the papers in order was natural and proper.
That he should conduct a rapid examination of all the drawers in Kara's desk might be excused on the score of diligence, since he was, to some extent, in the confidence of his employer.
Kara was given to making friends of his servants—up to a point. In his more generous moments he would address his bodyguard as “Fred,” and on more occasions than one, and for no apparent reason, had tipped his servant over and above his salary.