Venetia would be glad for him....
He was ascending the steps of Number 289 when a heavy touring-car, coming from the direction of Longacre Square, swung in to the curb and stopped. Latch-key in hand, Matthias paused and looked back in some little surprise: the lodgers of Madame Duprat were a motley lot, but as far as he knew none of them were of the class that maintains expensive automobiles. But this car, upon inspection, proved to be tenanted by the chauffeur alone; who, leaving the motor purring, jumped smartly from his seat and ran up the steps.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, touching his cap, "but I'm looking for a gentleman named Matthias—"
"I am Mr. Matthias."
"Thank you, sir. I've been sent to fetch you. It's—er—important, I fancy," the man added, eyeing Matthias curiously.
"You've been sent to fetch me? But who sent you?"
"My employer, sir—Mr. Marbridge."
"Marbridge!" Matthias echoed, startled. Without definite decision, he turned and ran down the steps in company with the chauffeur: Venetia in need of him, perhaps.... "What's happened?" he demanded. "Is Mrs. Marbridge—?"
"If you'll just get in, sir," the man replied, "I'll tell you—as much as I know—on the way. It'll save time."
He opened the door of the tonneau, but Matthias turned from it, walked round the car, and climbed into the seat beside the driver's. With a nod of satisfaction, the chauffeur joined him, threw in the power, and deftly swung the ponderous vehicle about.