“Who is there?” I asked.
Then a voice inquired, “Is this Mr. Samuel Chillip’s?” It was a somewhat hoarse, gruff voice, but its tone was subdued and quiet. It threatened nothing unpleasant.
“Yes, I am Mr. Chillip,” I said.
“Can I speak with you a moment?”
“I am a stranger, and I cannot well explain my business here, but it is important and urgent.”
This was said in so tranquil and respectful a manner as to allay any apprehension I might have felt, while exciting my curiosity. Still I hesitated. The stranger might be a beggar. But he anticipated my thought.
“I have not come to beg,” he said, “or to trouble you in any way. I have an important communication to make to you, likely to be useful to you in your occupation, and it must be made at once or it will be too late.”
Here was a mystery equal to many that I myself had invented. What could it mean? I was eager to know, and alas! let the stranger in.
