"Good Lord!" I muttered. "I hope there's no mistake."
At all events, the number was on the gate-post right enough, and the driver seemed quite confident that he had reached his correct destination. So, pulling myself together, I stepped on to the pavement and handed the man half a crown.
He touched his cap respectfully, and putting in his clutch, glided away slowly in the direction of Oxford Street.
For perhaps thirty seconds I hesitated; then, mounting the broad stone steps, I thrust my latch-key into the door. It opened easily enough, and with a deep breath I stepped in over the threshold.
I found myself in a large circular hall, surrounded by several stone pillars and lit by an electric chandelier. A plentiful supply of palm trees in pots, and some beautiful hanging baskets of hothouse flowers, lent the place an air of luxury and comfort, which was increased by the deep easy-chairs of red leather scattered about in various corners. So far, I had certainly no fault to find with my new home.
I had just closed the front door, and was advancing across the thick, noiseless Turkey carpet, when there was a sound of discreet footsteps, and a man suddenly appeared from a curtained aperture at the back of the hall. He was a quiet, pleasant-looking fellow of about forty-five, with an alert, clean-shaven face, and hair just beginning to turn grey. His clothes were the conventional costume of an English butler.
"This," I said to myself, "must be Milford."
I took off my hat, so that the light fell full on my face.
"Any letters, Milford?" I asked easily.
I was watching him as I spoke, looking out keenly for the slightest start of surprise or hint that he had noticed something unusual in my appearance. But nothing could have been more natural than the manner in which he came forward and relieved me of my coat and hat.