Parker turned. “Yes, sir?”
“They will be ready by Monday?”
“If possible, your excellency.”
“Otherwise I shall not accept them.”
Ormuz Khan drew a hyacinth from a vase close beside him and languidly waved it in dismissal.
In the outer room the courteous secretary awaited Parker, and there was apparently no one else in the place, for the Hindu conducted him to the lobby and opened the door.
Parker said “Good morning, sir,” and would have departed without his hat had not the secretary smilingly handed it to him.
When, presently, the cobbler emerged from the elevator, below, he paused before leaving the hotel to mop his perspiring brow with a large, soiled handkerchief. The perfume of hyacinths seemed to have pursued him, bringing with it a memory of the handsome, effeminate ivory face of the man above. He was recalled to his senses by the voice of the impudent page.
“Been kicked out, gov’nor?” the youth inquired. “You’re the third this morning.”
“Is that so?” answered Parker. “Who were the other two, lad?”