IV
Mr. Vincent was beginning to think about going to bed. He had come in an hour before, had written half a dozen letters, and was smoking peacefully before the fire.
His rooms were not remarkable in any way, except for half a dozen objects standing on the second shelf of his bookcase, and the selection of literature ranged below them. For the rest, all was commonplace enough; a mahogany knee-hold table, a couple of easy chairs, much worn, and a long, extremely comfortable sofa standing by itself against the wall with evident signs, in its tumbled cushions and rubbed fabric, of continual and frequent use. A second door gave entrance to his bedroom.
He beat out his pipe slowly, yawned, and stood up.
It was at this instant that he heard the sudden tinkle of the electric bell in the lobby outside, and, wondering at the interruption at this hour, went quickly out and opened the door on to the stairs.
"Mr. Baxter! Come in, come in; I'm delighted to see you."
Laurie came in without a word, went straight up to the fire-place, and faced about.
"I'm not going to apologize," he said, "for coming at this time. You told me to come and see you at any time, and I've taken you at your word."
The young man had an odd embarrassed manner, thought the other; an air of having come in spite of uneasiness; he was almost shamefaced.
The medium impelled him gently into a chair.