Larkin silenced the bells on the telephone box. He left the room, and the old man heard him go downstairs. Clinton Glendenning sank back for another nap.
The secretary stopped before he reached the front door. The velvet curtain rustled beside him. Larkin heard a whispered voice. He spoke softly. Margaret Glendenning stepped from the other room.
“Is it all right, Larkin?” she questioned.
“All right, Miss Margaret. Your uncle thinks you have gone out.”
“I can go with you, then?”
“Yes.”
“But wait a moment, Larkin.” The girl’s hand trembled as she pressed the secretary’s arm. “You are sure that this man will be willing to see me?”
“Positive, Miss Margaret. He phoned and asked for you, one afternoon. You remember, the day you had gone out to the store, and your uncle was asleep? I talked to him, then.”
“He was a great friend of Robert’s,” said Margaret. “Robert often spoke about Henri Zayata. He must be a wonderful man. He is an invalid, you know.”
“Yes,” replied Larkin. “I have heard Mr. Buchanan speak of him also, so I knew who he was when he called up. He said some things over the telephone, Miss Margaret. It made me wonder about—”