"There's some one ringing, Chapman, some one ringing at the hall door. Go and see who it is."
But Edwards entered and said:
"Two gentlemen asking for you, sir. They are the ones. . . ."
"I know. Are they there, in the lobby?"
"Yes, sir."
"Close the hall-door and don't open it again except to M. Gourel, the detective-sergeant. You go and bring the gentlemen in, Chapman, and tell them that I would like to speak to the Colonel first, to the Colonel alone."
Edwards and Chapman left the room, shutting the door after them. Rudolf Kesselbach went to the window and pressed his forehead against the glass.
Outside, just below his eyes, the carriages and motor-cars rolled along in parallel furrows, marked by the double line of refuges. A bright spring sun made the brass-work and the varnish gleam again. The trees were putting forth their first green shoots; and the buds of the tall chestnuts were beginning to unfold their new-born leaves.
"What on earth is Chapman doing?" muttered Kesselbach. "The time he wastes in palavering! . . ."
He took a cigarette from the table, lit it and drew a few puffs. A faint exclamation escaped him. Close before him stood a man whom he did not know.