It was he who was sitting at the desk, quietly engaged in a study of legal documents that lay before him.
The door opened at the far side of the room. It closed noiselessly. A man approached the desk. He came across the room with slow, mechanical stride, almost as though he were approaching a shrine in the midst of a temple.
Although there was no sound of the man’s approach, Stanley Wilberton looked up as he arrived before the desk.
“What is it, Crowley?” he asked, in deliberate tones.
“Two gentlemen to see you, sir.” Crowley spoke in a level, monotonous voice. The tones were in keeping with the man’s appearance. His face was placid and changeless in expression.
“Who are they?” questioned Crowley.
“Mr. Howard Griscom, sir; and a Mr. Cranston, who is with him.”
“Humph! I don’t know that I can see them, Crowley.”
“Mr. Griscom says that it is urgent, sir.”
Wilberton looked directly at his secretary.