The servant approached silently and bowed. First to Margaret, then to Larkin. He spoke, in a soft voice that seemed modulated to suit the surroundings.
“The master will be glad that you are here,” he said. “I go to tell him.”
He moved halfway along the hall and turned between two hanging draperies. Margaret, looking from an angle, saw a polished black slab rise as the man approached. He passed beneath it. The barrier closed. The girl turned to Larkin.
“You have been here before?” she asked.
Larkin nodded in response to the direct question.
“You did not tell me so,” the girl said reprovingly.
“I could not, Miss Margaret,” pleaded the secretary. “It would have meant too long an explanation. You will understand when you meet the man who lives here.”
“Henri Zayata?”
“Yes. I think, Miss Margaret,” the secretary said smilingly, “that you would prefer to know that I have been here — now that you have seen the place.”
“It’s uncanny,” said Margaret, in a low whisper. “It’s so frightfully uncanny — and very wonderful. I like it, Larkin. Yet it fills me with awe.”