With no premonition of coming pain or evil Jean Bower’s fortunate lover passed through the big paved courtyard of the Etna China factory. He walked quickly into the early Victorian marble-papered hall and so past the office where sat two clerks, into the high square room which had been for so long known to the good folk of Grendon as “Mr. Dodson’s room.”
His letters lay unopened on the shabby leather-covered writing table, and as he sat down he saw that on the top of the pile was an unstamped envelope marked “Private.” Opening it, he read:
The Red Lion, Grendon,
December 17th.
Sir,
I propose to call on you to-morrow at eleven with regard to an important matter. Will you please arrange to be in at that time?
Yours faithfully,
James Kentworthy.
He stared down at the sheet of paper, trying to remember if he had ever heard the name Kentworthy before. But no, it meant nothing to him. Whoever this Kentworthy might be he had no business to take it for granted that he, Garlett, would be here, waiting his convenience, at eleven o’clock!
He got up and went into the outer office.