"'Ullo! Beg pardon 'm! Which office d' ye want?"
"Is there," began Mary, in her gentle voice—"is there a Mr. Bulteel——?"
"Bulteel? Yes—straight up—second floor—third door—Vesey and Symonds!"
With these words jerked out of himself at lightning speed, the boy rushed past her and disappeared.
With a beating heart Mary cautiously climbed the dark staircase which he had just descended. When she reached the second floor, she paused. There were three doors all facing her,—on the first one was painted the name of "Sir Francis Vesey"—on the second "Mr. John Symonds"—and on the third "Mr. Bulteel." As soon as she saw this last, she heaved a little sigh of relief, and going straight up to it knocked timidly. It was opened at once by a young clerk who looked at her questioningly.
"Mr. Bulteel?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"Yes. Have you an appointment?"
"No. I am quite a stranger," she said. "I only wish to tell Mr. Bulteel of the death of some one he knows."
The clerk glanced at her and seemed dubious.
"Mr. Bulteel is very busy," he began—"and unless you have an appointment——"