“Kindly take me to him.”
“What name, sir?”
Power gave his name, and followed close on the man’s heels, and the servant did not dare bid such a distinguished-looking visitor wait in the hall. Still, he hastened on in front, knocked at a door, and said:
“Mr. John Darien Power to see you, sir.”
“Tell Mr. Power——” came a stern voice; but too late to be effective, for Power was in the room.
“You can tell me yourself, Mr. Marten,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry to thrust myself in on you in this way; but it was necessary, as my business is important and will brook no delay.”
Marten had risen from a table littered with papers. A cold light gleamed in his eyes; but he had the sense and courage to refrain from creating a scene before the discomfited footman.
“You may go,” he said to the man, and the door closed.
“Now, Mr. Power,” he continued, “we are alone, and, whatever your business, I must inform you that your presence here is an unwelcome intrusion.”