“Mr. Ramsay’s not gone?”
“Not yet, sir,” was the answer, given with timid alacrity. “He’s here later than usual to-night, you see, in consequence——”
But before the first words were fairly uttered, Julian had crossed the room, and as he reached the second door leading into the inner office, it opened quietly, and Ramsay stood on the threshold. He was looking as imperturbable and uninterested as usual, and his voice was dry indifference itself as he observed:
“I have been expecting you all day.”
Without a word Julian strode past him into the manager’s room, and then, as Ramsay shut the door calmly, he said, in a quick, unnatural tone, which also carried with it a curious suggestion that he had not even heard Ramsay’s words:
“It’s a mistake! It’s a mistake! It must be!”
Ramsay’s only answer was a slight shrug of the shoulders as his dull eyes rested, apparently with complete indifference, upon Julian’s face; and the latter went on, rapidly and unevenly:
“I’ve only just heard. I’ve been out of town all day. I’ve come to hear—to see what can be done.”
The last words were hardly audible, as though his mouth was so parched that he could hardly articulate. He lifted his hand as if involuntarily, and pushed back his hat, fixing a pair of fierce, burning eyes upon Ramsay.
“There’s nothing to be done, of course,” said Ramsay drily. “The thing’s collapsed.”