Carlyle groaned and flung out an arm petulantly.
“Is it all bunkum, Max? Do you really see all the time—though that doesn’t go very far towards explaining it.”
“Like Vidal, I see very well—at close quarters,” replied Carrados, lightly running a forefinger along the inscription on the tetradrachm. “For longer range I keep another pair of eyes. Would you like to test them?”
Mr Carlyle’s assent was not very gracious; it was, in fact, faintly sulky. He was suffering the annoyance of feeling distinctly unimpressive in his own department; but he was also curious.
“The bell is just behind you, if you don’t mind,” said his host. “Parkinson will appear. You might take note of him while he is in.”
The man who had admitted Mr Carlyle proved to be Parkinson.
“This gentleman is Mr Carlyle, Parkinson,” explained Carrados the moment the man entered. “You will remember him for the future?”
Parkinson’s apologetic eye swept the visitor from head to foot, but so lightly and swiftly that it conveyed to that gentleman the comparison of being very deftly dusted.
“I will endeavour to do so, sir,” replied Parkinson; turning again to his master.
“I shall be at home to Mr Carlyle whenever he calls. That is all.”