“Would you very kindly wait?” he asked, and disappeared up the stairs.
He was not gone long before he returned to the first landing and beckoned Mr. Barberton to come. The visitor was ushered into a room at the front of the house, a small room, which was made smaller by the long grey velvet curtains that hung behind the empire desk where Manfred was standing.
“This is Mr. Barberton, sir,” said the butler, bowed, and went out, closing the door.
“Sit down, Mr. Barberton.” He indicated a chair and seated himself. “My butler tells me you have quite an exciting story to tell me—you are from the Cape?”
“No, I’m not,” said Mr. Barberton. “I’ve never been at the Cape in my life.”
The man behind the desk nodded.
“Now, if you will tell me——”
“I’m not going to tell you much,” was the surprisingly blunt reply. “It’s not likely that I’m going to tell a stranger what I wouldn’t even tell Elijah Washington—and he saved my life!”
Manfred betrayed no resentment at this cautious attitude. In that room he had met many clients who had shown the same reluctance to accept him as their confidant. Yet he had at the back of his mind the feeling that this man, unlike the rest, might remain adamant to the end: he was curious to discover the real object of the visit.
Barberton drew his chair nearer the writing-table and rested his elbows on the edge.