“Good afternoon, Mr. Withers! We will be glad to see you. Please walk in.”
She was a comely woman, aged about forty years, rather portly, and had a wholesome, shrewd-looking face. She was dressed in black.
Leonard evinced some surprise at her ready recognition of him, though he remembered that Mr. Stark had predicted that he would be known.
The woman urged him not to delay going in, and as soon as he had entered the hall, she closed the door and locked it.
“Mr. Stark sent you, of course,” she said. “You are to wait in this room, and we are not to have any conversation with you until he comes. Do you wish a lunch?”
“No, thank you. That is, not at present. I will wait until Mr. Stark comes, and then we can take it together.”
“Very well. I hope you will pass the time pleasantly. There are books and papers.”
Leonard had been shown into a room adjoining the hall, and here the woman left him alone. He reflected, with wonder and admiration, on Mr. Stark’s system of arrangements, and patiently awaited the arrival of the detective.
The latter made his appearance shortly after eight o’clock. After brief greetings, a lunch was brought in, and the two were left together.
“You say you have found him,” said Mr. Stark, immediately entering on the business in hand.