Spencer Hastings proceeded. “Er—I—ah—that is—er——”
“If those are scales,” said the telephone, “permit me to congratulate you.”
Hastings tried again. “Something has happened,” he began.
“No!” said the telephone.
“D’you think you could—I know it’s an extraordinary thing to ask—er, but will you—er——”
Miss Margaret Warren rose to her feet, removed the instrument from her employer’s hands, put the receiver to her ear and spoke into the transmitter.
“Mr. Gethryn,” she said, “this is Margaret Warren speaking. What Mr. Hastings wished to do was to ask whether you could come down here—to the office—at once. Oh, I know it sounds mad, but we’ve received some amazing news, and Mr. Hastings wishes to consult you. I can’t tell you any more over the phone, but Mr. Hastings is sure that you’ll be willing to help. Please come; it might mean everything to the paper.”
“Miss Warren,” said the telephone sadly, “against my will you persuade me.”
Chapter II.
Anthony Gethryn
Anthony Ruthven Gethryn was something of an oddity. A man of action who dreamed while he acted; a dreamer who acted while he dreamed. The son of a hunting country gentleman of the old type, who was yet one of the most brilliant mathematicians of his day, and of a Spanish lady of impoverished and exiled family who had, before her marriage with Sir William Gethryn, been in turn governess, dancer, mannequin, actress, and portrait painter, it was perhaps to be expected that he should be no ordinary child. And he was not.