“Show him in.” Peter touched a little knob on his desk on which was stamped “Chief Clerk.” A moment later a man opened a door. “Samuels,” said Peter, “I wish you would stay here for a moment. I want you to listen to what’s said.”
The next moment a man crossed the threshold of another door. “Good-morning, Mr. Stirling,” he said.
“Mr. Curlew,” said Peter, without rising and with a cold inclination of his head.
“I have a message for you, Mr. Stirling,” said the man, pulling a chair into a position that suited him, and sitting, “but it’s private.”
Peter said nothing, but began to write.
“Do you understand? I want a word with you private,” said the man after a pause.
“Mr. Samuels is my confidential clerk. You can speak with perfect freedom before him.” Peter spoke without raising his eyes from his writing.
“But I don’t want any one round. It’s just between you and me.”
“When I got your message,” said Peter, still writing, “I sent for Mr. Samuels. If you have anything to say, say it now. Otherwise leave it unsaid.”
“Well, then,” said the man, “your party’s been tricking us, and we won’t stand it.”