"There's my card," he said, drawing forth his wallet.
Instantly the butler became obsequious, for not only did he perceive that the visitor bore himself as a gentleman, but he recognised the card as an open-sesame to his master. He handled it with infinite respect. It read:
Mr. Giles Illingsworth
Vice-President of the
Tri-State Trust Company,
New York.
"Your pardon, sir," said the butler before he closed the door, and With a nod of the head towards the street. "Your car—does it need attention, sir? Our garage is only half a block away. Shall I send out and tell your chauffeur, sir?"
Ilingsworth's glance followed that of the butler's. A blue limousine stood throbbing at the curb. It had evidently been there all the while, though Ilingsworth had failed to observe it.
"It's not my car," he returned brusquely.
Again a puzzled look came over the servant's face, but concealing his embarrassment, he closed the door.
"Very good, sir," he said. "Kindly step this way."