"Rummy!" said Warrender. "That's Rogers's sister, I suppose; wife of the chef, you remember. What did she mean?"
"It looked as if she wanted to open the window and couldn't," returned Armstrong. "She wanted to speak to us."
"That movement of her arm--was it a warning to us to go away?"
"Too late in any case. That's the secretary coming out; he's seen us."
The dapper little man whom Armstrong had seen on the day before, dressed as he was then, was hurrying down the steps from the front entrance when he caught sight of the boys. He stopped short, gave a swift glance behind him, then descended the remaining steps and came towards them. His movements were quick, his step was light, and as he drew nearer they were aware of a very vivid personality, accentuated by dark eyes of great brilliance, set rather closely together.
"Yes, gentlemen," he said, smiling, "what can I do for you?"
His voice was low and smooth; the intonation, rather than the accent, alone suggested a foreign origin.
"Can you give us a few minutes alone?" said Warrender.
The chauffeur had just come down the steps, carrying a box, and stood with it still in his arms, beside the car, looking on with an air of startled curiosity.
"Certainly," replied the man, "if it is only a question of minutes. As you see, I am about to drive out, and my time is short. Henrico"--he addressed the chauffeur--"put the box down and go into the house. Now, gentlemen."