IN WHICH MR. BAXTER SHOWS HIMSELF A MAN OF RESOURCES
It was just eight o'clock when Johnson gave three excited raps with the heavy iron knocker on the door of Mr. Baxter's house in Madison Avenue. A personage in purple evening clothes drew the door wide open, but on seeing the sartorial character of the caller he filled the doorway with his own immaculate figure.
"Is Mr. Baxter at home?" asked Johnson eagerly.
"He is just going out," the other condescended to reply.
That should have been enough to dispose of this common fellow. But Johnson kept his place. "I want to see him, for just a minute. Tell him my name. He'll see me. It's Johnson."
The personage considered a space, then disappeared to search for Mr. Baxter; first showing his discretion by closing the door—with Johnson outside of it. He quickly reappeared and led Johnson across a hall that was as large as Johnson's flat, up a broad stairway, and through a wide doorway into the library, where he left him, standing, to gain what he could from sight of the rows and rows of leather-backed volumes.
Almost at once Mr. Baxter entered, dressed in a dinner coat.
"You have something to tell me?" he asked quickly.
"Yes."