At the sound, Wallingford sprang up as if the bell had actuated a hidden spring in the chair, and darted over to the window, from which he peered out through the chink beside the blind.
“It isn’t Amos,” he reported. “It’s a stranger, and a fool at that, I should say, if he can’t see that all the blinds are down.”
We all listened intently. We heard the housemaid’s hurried footsteps, though she ran on tip-toe; the door opened softly, and then, after an interval, we heard some one ushered along the hall to the drawing room. A few moments later, Mabel entered with an obviously scandalized air.
“A gentleman wishes to speak to you, Ma’am,” she announced.
“But, Mabel,” said Barbara, “did you tell him what is happening in this house?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I explained exactly how things were and told him that he must call to-morrow. But he said that his business was urgent and that he must see you at once.”
“Very well,” said Barbara. “I will go and see what he wants. But it is very extraordinary.”
She rose, and nearly colliding with Wallingford, who had rushed to open the door—which was, in fact, wide open—walked out quickly, closing the door after her. After a short interval—during which Wallingford paced the room excitedly, peered out of the window, sat down, got up again and looked at his watch—she came back, and, standing in the doorway, looked at me.
“Would you come here for a minute, Rupert,” she said, quietly.
I rose at once and walked back with her to the drawing room, on entering which I became aware of a large man, standing monumentally on the hearth-rug and inspecting the interior of his hat. He looked to me like a plainclothes policeman, and my surmise was verified by a printed card which he presented and which bore the inscription “Sergeant J. Burton.”