"What sort of man?" enquired Mr. Welwyn, rising from his seat and edging carelessly in the direction of his bedroom door.
"A rough-looking man."
"Tell him," said Mr. Welwyn with his hand on the door-handle, "that I am not at home. Percy! Quick! Keep that fellow out!"
But it was too late. A stranger stood in the midst of the House of Welwyn.
He was an elderly, undersized, seedy-looking individual, with a blue chin, a red nose, and a faded theatrical manner. In his hand he held a blue-grey slip of paper. He smiled amiably upon the shrinking figure of the master of the house.
"Don't trouble to exit on my account, sir," he remarked wheezily.
"Who are you?" stammered Mr. Welwyn. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
"Name of Welwyn?" enquired the stranger briskly.
"Yes."
"Loosius?"