Having reached the door, he discreetly tapped. No answer came. Somewhat less timidity characterized his next effort. A growl of surpassing savagery from within was his reward.
“You see, Mr. Sedgwick,” said the clerk. Raising his voice he called, “Mr. Kent, I’ve brought—”
“Get away and go to the devil!” cried a voice from inside in fury. “What do you mean by—”
“It’s I, Kent, Sedgwick. I’ve got to see you.”
There was a silence of some seconds.
“What do you want?” asked Kent at length.
“You told me to come at once if anything turned up.”
“So I did,” sighed Kent. “Well, chase that infernal bell-boy to the stairs, and I’ll let you in.”
With a wry face the clerk retired. Kent opened the door, and his friend squeezed through into a bare room. The walls were hung and the floor was carpeted with white sheets. There was no furniture of any kind, unless a narrow mattress in one corner could be so reckoned. Beside the mattress lay a small pad and a pencil. Only on the visitor’s subconscious self did these peculiarities impress themselves, such was his absorption in his own interests.
“It’s happened!” he announced.