He patiently awaited Mr. Duncan’s appearance, glancing over the newspaper to which the porter had made reference, but taking no heed of the words over which his eyes wandered.
Promptly at nine o’clock Mr. Duncan arrived. He seemedsurprised to find Carlos sitting there, but after an instant’s hesitation recognized him, and with a cordial exclamation advanced toward him with extended hand.
Carlos sprang past him and closed the door, and then turned and took the proffered hand.
“I beg your pardon,” he began, and then stopped.
“How do you do! How do you do!” exclaimed Mr. Duncan.
His words and voice were cordial, though he looked sharply at Carlos, as if puzzled at his demeanor. He was a tall, portly man, with a ruddy, though fair complexion, and a clear, pleasant eye. His face was smooth, with the exception of gray side-whiskers, and he had a high, noble forehead. He stood looking at Carlos, inquiringly, and the latter began to speak hurriedly and rather incoherently.
“I am in great trouble,” he said, “and I have come to you. I scarcely know why. I thought that you might not believe—that is, that you would be willing to listen—at all events that you would shield me for a few hours, and not pronounce judgment too hastily.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Duncan, in astonishment.
“Mr. Duncan,” said Carlos, suddenly stepping back a pace, and speaking slowly and distinctly, “are you aware that you have just shaken hands with one who is under accusation of murder?”
“Good heavens, no! I am not aware of that. Please explain yourself.”