“I say I am the medical man who attended him after his late accident, and I wish to see my patient again.”
The butler glared at the speaker in a heavy, solemn way, and then turned slowly to his subordinate, who raised his eyebrows and drew down the corners of his lips.
“I beg pardon, sir,” said the butler, turning his eyes again on the visitor, who was beginning to lose temper. “There is a Mr Robert here—Mr Robert Clareborough. You must mean some other gentleman. Our Mr Robert is quite well, and on the Continent just now.”
“Impossible!” cried Chester, angrily. “Look here, my man, take this for yourself and my card in to Mr Robert. Say I beg that he will give me a few minutes’ conversation.”
The butler glanced at the card and the coin held out, but took neither.
“Beg pardon, sir. I told you that Mr Robert is on the Continent.”
“Yes; and I tell you that you are not speaking the truth. Do as I tell you. I will wait till he sees me.”
Chester took a couple of steps forward as he spoke, with the intention of entering the hall, but the butler stood firm, and the footman closed up to his side, the pair effectually barring the way. Chester stopped, feeling that he could do no more, for the servants must have been instructed to deny everybody to him. He thought, too, of his position; he had attended his patient and retained the heavy fee paid him, having, had he so wished, been debarred from returning it by his ignorance of the sender’s address.
While he was musing the butler said haughtily—
“If you like to leave your card, sir, I’ll lay it on the ’all table, and if one of the gentlemen wishes to see you, I daresay he’ll write or call.”