"Go and tell her," he said quietly, "that I must see her, and that I shall wait here until I do."
The look in his eyes frightened the old servant. Besides, for some time now, he had been led to look upon him as his future master.
"For God's sake, Mr. Leicester——" he said piteously.
"Go, or I will not be answerable for the consequences," he said, in the same quiet tones; "tell them that I will not take 'No' for an answer."
The servant looked helplessly, first at Leicester and then at Winfield. Finally he closed the door in their faces like one afraid.
"I'll do the best I can, sir," he said, "but you must not come in."
A few minutes later he came back again, and his face was almost as pale as that of the young man who had stood as still as a statue on the doorstep.
"If you please, sir, you are both to follow me," he said in a frightened whisper.
Leicester was perfectly calm now, but the calm was unnatural; his every feature was set and rigid, his face had a pallor that was deathly. He followed the man without a word. As for Winfield, he felt that the whole atmosphere of the place was charged with excitement, and he wondered why he was also asked to follow the servant.
With faltering steps the man led the way into the library. Leicester knew that this was John Castlemaine's favourite room, and that it was here he spent most of his time when he was at home. The servant opened the door, and then closed it again, noiselessly.