"I think I'll tell you how it is, Hamish. Upon this manuscript----"
What was it that happened? Gerald broke off abruptly and looked at the door; his mouth slightly opened, his ear was cocked in the attitude of one, listening anxiously. Hamish, unused to the sounds of the place, heard nothing whatever.
"Say I'm out, Hamish, old fellow; say I'm out," whispered Gerald, disappearing noiselessly within an invisible closet; invisible from being papered like the walls and opening with a knob no bigger than a nut. Hamish sat in a trance of inward astonishment, easy as ever outwardly, a half smile upon his face.
He opened the door in answer to a knock. A respectable-looking man at once stepped inside, asking to see Mr. Yorke.
Hamish with a gesture of his hand pointed to the empty room, indicating that Mr. Yorke was not there to be seen. The applicant looked round it curiously; and at that moment Gerald's servant came up with a rush, and glanced round as keenly as the applicant.
"My master's gone out for the day, Mr. Brookes."
"How many more times am I to have that answer given me?" demanded Mr. Brookes. "It's hardly likely he'd be gone out so soon as this."
"Likely or not, he's gone," said the servant, speaking with easy indifference.
"Well, look here; there's the account, delivered once more and for the last time," said Mr. Brookes, handing in a paper. "If it's not paid within four-and-twenty hours, I shall summons him to the county-court."
"And he means it," emphatically whispered the servant in Hamish's hearing, as Mr. Brookes's descending footsteps echoed on the stairs.