"Is he?" rapped Bristol. "Well, I'll leave my card."
He turned and quitted the office, carefully closing the door behind him. Three seconds later he reopened it, and peering in, was in time to see the boy knock upon the private door. A little wicket, or movable panel, was let down, the card of John Henry Smith was passed through to someone unseen, and the wicket was reclosed!
The boy turned and met the wrathful eye of the detective. Bristol reentered, closing the door behind him.
"See here, young fellow," said he, "I don't stand for those tricks! Why didn't you tell me Mr. Knowlson was in?"
"I'm very sorry, sir!" — the boy quailed beneath his glance—"but he won't see any one who hasn't an appointment."
"Is there someone with him, then?"
"No."
"Well, what's he doing?"
"I don't know, sir; I've never been in to see!"
"What! never been in that room?"