Gorman glanced at his watch. He had no time to spare if he meant to be at Beaufort’s at eight. Punctuality was no doubt one of the middle-class virtues which the King and Madame Ypsilante were at that moment practising. Gorman hesitated. The landlord, who had once been a butler, stood waiting.
“Tell him,” said Gorman, “to call to-morrow at eleven.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the landlord, “but the gentleman says his business is most pressing.”
Gorman reflected. If Goldsturmer had given the landlord five shillings—and this seemed likely—the business must be very pressing indeed; and King Konrad Karl could not yet have become an absolute slave to the virtue of punctuality.
“Show him in here,” said Gorman; “that will save time.”
Goldsturmer slipped into the room and stood meekly near the door.
“Sit down,” said Gorman. “Sit on the bed if you can’t find a chair, and tell me what you want with me, as quickly as you can.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Goldsturmer, “to receive me at this hour. Nothing but the very pressing nature of my business—but I will get to the point. You will doubtless remember a certain rope of pearls. Let me see, it must have been in March——”
“I don’t remember any rope of pearls,” said Gorman. “I take no interest in pearls.”