“Ah!” Clark’s exclamation and shrug were foreign in their expressiveness. “That is impossible. Mr. Trevor sees no one.”
“I think he will see me,” said Dick, patiently.
“I fear you are mistaken, Tillinghast. The Attorney General denies himself to all callers,” Clark replied suavely. “You will really have to confide your business to me.”
“That is impossible,” replied Dick, shortly.
Clark flushed at his tone, and his eyes flashed.
“You forget, sir, that I am the Attorney General’s confidential secretary, in fact, his representative. I would be perfectly within my rights if I denied you admittance to this house.”
The hot retort on Dick’s lips was checked by Wilkins’ entrance.
“The Attorney General will see you, sir. Please walk into his private office.”
Try as he would, Clark could not prevent a look of deep chagrin crossing his face, and Dick chuckled inwardly as he followed the butler out of the room and across the broad hall. Just before he reached the door leading into the office, he felt his nose twitching, premonitory symptoms of a sneeze, and with hasty fingers he pulled his handkerchief out of his cuff.
The mended cuff link broke and made a tinkling noise as it struck on the hearth of the open fireplace; and then, with the evil ingenuity which sometimes possesses inanimate objects, it rolled far out of sight under a suit of chain armor which hung to the left of the chimney. Dick sprang in pursuit; Mrs. Macallister had given the set to him that Christmas, and he was determined not to lose the button. So getting down on hands and knees he groped about until his fingers closed over it again; then rose hurriedly to his feet at the same time thrusting the recovered link into his waistcoat pocket, to find himself face to face with the Attorney General.