“The Baron’s little game is very clever, but will it succeed?”
He asked himself the question but could come to no decision.
“Perhaps an interview with Gaunt will give me the answer,” he said musingly and having finished his cigar, he started walking rapidly to Park Lane.
None recognized him save a policeman, for he was a man who loathed advertisement, and considered that he was most successful as a foreign secretary when his name was least in evidence. By the time he reached Gaunt’s house, his mind was made up as to the course he should take at the coming interview.
There was a few minutes’ wait in the hall, and he noticed with approval the quiet taste with which the place was furnished.
“Evidently Lady Mildred was consulted,” was the thought, but in this he was wrong, for Gaunt had chosen everything, even before he had dreamt of marriage.
To his knowledge Sir Keith had never seen the millionaire, and so he looked with keen interest at the man who greeted him, noting the strong face and air of self-reliance.
“The mountain would not come to Mahomet——But I am afraid that quotation is unappropriate, for I certainly am no prophet, Mr. Gaunt. May I sit down?”
Sir Keith had held out his hand, and felt Gaunt’s steady grip.
“There is nothing flabby in this man’s nature,” was his thought, and he braced himself up for a battle.