As he crossed the threshold, a young man in tweeds rode up on a bicycle, stepped off, and, lifting his cap to Halkett, said politely:
"Monsieur Halkett, if you please? Is he still residing here at the Golden Peach?"
Halkett's right hand dropped carelessly into the side pocket of his coat. When he had cocked his automatic, he said pleasantly:
"I am Mr. Halkett."
The young man said smilingly, in perfect English:
"Do you expect a friend, Mr. Halkett?"
"Perhaps."
"Possibly you expect a Mr. Reginald Gray?"
"Possibly."
"He has been injured."