Kingsley put the idea out of his head that Miss Chandler was a servant, and handed his card to the man.
"Will you say to Miss Chandler that I am a messenger from another, and that I should appreciate an immediate interview as a favor?" he said. "Assure her that I will not detain her five minutes."
The servant bowed and left him. Kingsley looked about him.
"There is a mystery in this," he said to himself, "that I must solve. What could that old drunken tramp have to do with people like these? Evidently I must keep my wits about me."
His soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Miss Chandler. Kingsley caught his breath hard at the vision of beauty she presented.
She was clad in a gown of dead black, above which her bare shoulders gleamed like marble.
She came toward him swiftly, and he had scarcely recovered himself, when she stood beside him.
"To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit, Mr. Kingsley?" she asked, referring to the card in her hand for the name.
"I—— The fact is, I am placed in a most awkward position, Miss Chandler!" he exclaimed, flushing furiously. "I was made the unwilling messenger of a man who has gotten himself into trouble. He gave me a message to deliver to Miss Evelyn Chandler, but you could not by any possible chance be the lady, though this is the address he gave."
"Perhaps you are not mistaken after all. There are a number of unfortunate people in whom I am interested. If you would kindly give me the name of the man I might be able to tell you whether the person meant was myself!"