The possibility of not getting in had never occurred to the old gentleman, and the thought that his son, safe within the sacred precincts of a club, might defy him, flogged his flagging anger and aroused his dogged determination.
"I'll try, at least," he said, going up the stone steps.
The men watched him with a smile on their lips. They saw him push the electric button, whereupon the door opened slightly. There was a brief, unheard parley; then the door swung wide open, and, when Mr. Saunders entered, it shut again.
"Well, I'm blest!" said the man on the kerb; "I wonder how the old duffer worked it. I wish I had asked him." None of the rest made any comment; they were struck dumb with amazement at the success of the old gentleman, who had even to ask if that were the club.
When the porter opened the door he repeated one of the questions asked a moment before by the man on the kerb.
"Have you an invitation, sir?"
"No," answered the old man, deftly placing his stick so that the barely opened door could not be closed until it was withdrawn. "No! I want to see my son, Richard Saunders. Is he inside?"
The porter instantly threw open the door.
"Yes, sir," he said. "They're expecting you, sir. Kindly come this way, sir."
The old man followed, wondering at the cordiality of his reception. There must be some mistake. Expecting him? How could that be! He was led into a most sumptuous parlour where a cluster of electric lamps in the ceiling threw a soft radiance around the room.