“Take my card to Mr. Boulter, boy,” he said tersely. The boy stared.
“Mr. Boulter, sir? There isn’t any one of that name here.”
“Oh!” said Bristol, looking around him in apparent surprise: “how long is he gone?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’ve only been here three weeks, and Mr. Knowlson only took the offices a month ago.”
“Oh,” commented Bristol, “then take my card to Mr. Knowlson; he will probably be able to give me Mr. Boulter’s present address.”
The boy hesitated. The detective had that authoritative manner which awes the youthful mind.
“He’s out, sir,” he said, but without conviction.
“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.