An indiarubber bulb lay close to his hand. He pressed it without her noting the movement. A clerk suddenly appeared. Hammond looked across at Madge, with an “Excuse me, Miss Finisterre, one moment.”
He drew a sheet of notepaper towards him. The paper was headed with “The Courier” title and address.
“Send me, at once, unpacked and ready for immediate use, the best American drawing-room rocking-chair you have in stock. Send invoice, cash will follow,” etc.
That was what he wrote. He enclosed it in an envelope, then on a separate slip of paper he wrote:—
“Take a cab, there and back, to Wallis’s, Holborn Circus. See how smart you can be; bring the chair, ordered, back with you.”
From his purse he took a four-shilling piece, and gave the young fellow the note, the slip of instructions, and the coin.
As the attendant left the room, he turned again to Madge, who, utterly unsuspicious of the errand on which he had sent his employee, was amusing herself with a copy of “Punch.” She looked up from the paper as the door closed.
“I like ‘The Courier’ immensely, Mr. Hammond,” she cried. There was a rare warmth of admiration in her tone.
“Thank you, Miss Finisterre!” His eyes said more than his words, “what do you specially like in it?” he asked; “or is your liking of a more general character?”