“I’m afraid that will be difficult,” he said. “The old man never sees people—even the biggest men in the City. He hates women and strangers, and although I’ve been with him all these years, I’m not so sure that he has got used to me! What is it about?”
She hesitated.
“It’s about Ray’s salary,” and then, as he shook his head, she went on urgently: “It is so important, Mr. Johnson. Ray has extravagant tastes, and if they cut his salary it means—well, you know Ray so well!”
He nodded.
“I don’t know whether I can do anything,” he said dubiously. “I’ll go up and ask Mr. Maitland, but I’m afraid that it is a million to one chance against his seeing you.”
When he came back, the jovial face of Mr. Johnson was one broad smile.
“Come up before he changes his mind,” he said, and led her to the lift. “You’ll have to do all the talking, Miss Bennett—he’s an eccentric old cuss and as hard as flint.”
He showed her into a small and comfortably furnished room, and waved his hand to a writing-table littered with papers.
“My little den,” he explained.
From the “den” a large rosewood door opened upon Mr. Maitland’s office.