He stood facing the door with a non-committal expression which would be either menacing or genial, as circumstances might dictate. But the man who entered was a type not familiar to him; he couldn’t place him; a big, shambling, rugged man of forty or so, a bit uncouth in appearance, but not without distinction. His face was ironic, but his smile was genial.
“Mr. Vincelle?” he asked.
“What can I do for you, sir?” inquired Gilbert, briefly.
“My name is Alexander MacGregor,” said he. “I have had the pleasure of instructing your elder daughter in music.”
Oh, a music teacher! Probably about a bill, or those outrageous “extra lessons” which his children were forever in need of.
“Sit down, sir, sit down!” said Gilbert.
Mr. MacGregor did so.
“I hope I don’t find you very busy!” he said. “This is quite a personal matter....”
“Cigar?” asked Gilbert.
Mr. MacGregor accepted one.