He gave a savage little tug at his beard.
“Six o'clock, eh? You will tell Mr. Kara that I called. Give me those books.”
“But I assure you, sir,—” stammered Fisher.
“Give me those books!” roared the other.
Deftly he lifted his left hand from the pocket, crooked the elbow by some quick manipulation, and thrust the books, which the valet most reluctantly handed to him, back to the place from whence he had taken them.
“Tell Mr. Kara I will call at my own time—do you understand, at my own time. Good morning to you.”
“If you would only wait, sir,” pleaded the agonized Fisher.
“Wait be hanged,” snarled the other. “I've waited three years, I tell you. Tell Mr. Kara to expect me when he sees me!”
He went out and most unnecessarily banged the door behind him. Fisher went back to the library. The girl was sealing up some letters as he entered and looked up.
“I am afraid, Miss Holland, I've got myself into very serious trouble.”