“She has given orders, sir, not to let you––”
“Well, I’m giving a few orders myself, and I won’t stand for any back talk, do you hear? Who is the master of this place, tell me that?” He thumped his breast with his knuckles. “Step lively, now. Tell her I’m here.”
He pushed his way past her and walked into what he called the “parlour,” but what was to Nellie the “living-room.” Here he found 158 numerous boxes, crates, and parcels, all prepared for shipment or storage. Quite coolly he examined the tag on a large crate. The word “Reno” smote him. As he cringed he smiled a sickly smile without being conscious of the act. “Wait a minute,” he called to Rachel, who was edging in an affrighted manner toward the lower end of the hall and the dining-room. “What is she doing?”
Rachel’s face brightened. He was going to be amenable to reason.
“It’s a farewell luncheon, sir. She simply can’t be disturbed. I’ll tell her you were here.”
“You don’t need to tell her anything,” said he, briskly. The sight of those crates and boxes had made another man of him. “I’ll announce myself. She won’t––”
“You’d better not!” cried Rachel, distractedly. “There are some men here. They will throw you out of the apartment. They’re big enough, Mr.—Mr.––”
He grinned. His fingers took a new grip on the revolver.
“Napoleon wasn’t as big as I am,” he said, much to Rachel’s distress. It sounded very mad to her. “Size isn’t everything.” 159
“For Heaven’s sake, sir, please don’t––”