Richard spoke imperatively and at the same moment stepped inside.
Mr. Bike looked as ill as the day he fell against the Hoffman House bar. He silently motioned Dick to enter the first room leading off the private hall in which they stood. Closing and locking the door he followed.
Richard seated himself in an easy chair, unasked. Mr. Bike sat down before a richly-carved desk, littered with packages of letters and photographs, which apparently he had been engaged in assorting and destroying, for bundles of them were slowly smouldering in the open grate.
The room was very handsome, and Richard viewed it with appreciation. There was a large open grate and above the low, wide mantle was a cabinet containing, in the centre, a French plate mirror, and on the brackets fine bits of bric-a-brac. The floor was richly carpeted, the walls were hung with fine paintings, while near the portieres, draped just far enough back to give a picturesque perspective view of a suite of rooms as cosy in the rear, was an alabaster statue of The Diver and another of Paul and Virginia.
A Mexican serape, quaintly colored, was thrown over a low lounge, before which lay a white fur rug. At one side was a little, square breakfast table, with curiously turned legs, and near it a half side-board, half cabinet, attractively filled with exquisite dishes, a few solid silver pieces and crystal glasses, backed up by long-necked bottles of liquids to fill them.
Mr. Bike had removed his coat and waistcoat and had on a little embroidered jacket. He did indeed have an unhealthy pallor, and Dick noticed that the hand with which he toyed with a carved paper-cutter shook violently.
“How this man loves life and its good things,” Dick thought, sympathetically, as his gaze wandered from one article of luxury to another, and on to another room, where, just through the portire, he could see a brass cage, in which a yellow canary was jumping restlessly about, and a small aquarium, up through which came a spraying fountain. He could even see goldfish swimming about and a little dark turtle run its head out of the water and then dive down again to the bottom of the basin.
“I suppose you know why I came to see you?” Dick said at last, when he saw Mr. Bike would not introduce any subject.
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Mr. Bike responded, with affected indifference.
“Well, I want to know all about Lucille Williams,” he said abruptly.