“You come here on business, sir?” he said. “I am at a loss to know what that business can possibly be.”
The unconcealed curiosity, with which he looked hard in my face while he spoke, convinced me that I had passed unnoticed by him at the Opera. He had seen Pesca first, and from that moment till he left the theatre he had evidently seen nothing else. My name would necessarily suggest to him that I had not come into his house with other than a hostile purpose towards himself, but he appeared to be utterly ignorant thus far of the real nature of my errand.
“I am fortunate in finding you here to-night,” I said. “You seem to be on the point of taking a journey?”
“Is your business connected with my journey?”
“In some degree.”
“In what degree? Do you know where I am going to?”
“No. I only know why you are leaving London.”
He slipped by me with the quickness of thought, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.
“You and I, Mr. Hartright, are excellently well acquainted with one another by reputation,” he said. “Did it, by any chance, occur to you when you came to this house that I was not the sort of man you could trifle with?”
“It did occur to me,” I replied. “And I have not come to trifle with you. I am here on a matter of life and death, and if that door which you have locked was open at this moment, nothing you could say or do would induce me to pass through it.”