Peixada was nervously pacing back and forth in the show-room.
“Ah,” he cried, catching hold of Arthur’s hand and wringing it vigorously, “you have come! What luck, eh? I can scarcely believe it is true. I’m quite put about by it, I declare. She walked in here, as large as life, not half an hour ago, and asked to see me. I had no idea the sight of her would upset me so. I told her that my business with her was of a legal nature, and I guessed she’d better wait while I sent round for my attorney. But I was desperately afraid you hadn’t got back. She acted just like a lamb. I tell you, that advertisement was a happy thought, wasn’t it? Pity we didn’t advertise in the first place, and so save all that delay and money. But I’m not complaining—not I. I’d be willing to spend twice the same amount right over again for the same result. Now we’ll get a round hundred thousand; and I won’t forget you.”
“Have you notified Mr. Romer, too?”
“Oh, yes; of course. Sent word for him to come with his officers. She—she’s in my private office—there—behind that door. Won’t you go in, and tell her about the will, and keep her occupied till they get here?”
“I—I think it would be best to wait,” said Arthur, his voice trembling.
“No—no. She’ll begin to get impatient. Please go in now. It’ll relieve my agitation, anyhow. I’m really surprised to find myself so shaken up. Here—this is the door. Open it, and go ahead in.”
“Oh—very well,” consented Arthur.
He put his hand upon the knob, fortified himself with a long breath, and entered the room. Peixada, sticking his head in behind him, rattled off, “Here, madam, is the gentleman I spoke to you about. He’ll explain what we want you for,” and withdrew, slamming the door.
Peixada’s private office was scarcely more than a hole in the wall—a small, square closet, lighted by a single grimy window, and destitute of furniture except for a desk and a couple of chairs.
In one of these chairs, with her back toward the door, and engaged apparently in looking out of the window, sat a lady.