“It’s very good of you to see me at this hour,” apologized the caller.
The conventional expression of Mr Carrados’s face changed a little.
“Surely my man has got your name wrong?” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it Louis Calling?”
The visitor stopped short and his agreeable smile gave place to a sudden flash of anger or annoyance.
“No, sir,” he replied stiffly. “My name is on the card which you have before you.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr Carrados, with perfect good-humour. “I hadn’t seen it. But I used to know a Calling some years ago—at St Michael’s.”
“St Michael’s!” Mr Carlyle’s features underwent another change, no less instant and sweeping than before. “St Michael’s! Wynn Carrados? Good heavens! it isn’t Max Wynn—old ‘Winning’ Wynn?”
“A little older and a little fatter—yes,” replied Carrados. “I have changed my name, you see.”
“Extraordinary thing meeting like this,” said his visitor, dropping into a chair and staring hard at Mr Carrados. “I have changed more than my name. How did you recognize me?”
“The voice,” replied Carrados. “It took me back to that little smoke-dried attic den of yours where we——”