So he sat by her side on the oak settle, near the anthracite stove in the hall, and told her what he knew of Alexis Triona.
CHAPTER III
WHAT Blaise Olifant told Olivia about his prospective co-inhabitant of The Towers, and what Rowington, the publisher, and one or two others knew about him, amounted to the following:
One morning a motor-car, having the second-hand air of a hiring garage and unoccupied save for the chauffeur, drew up before the door of a great London publishing house. The chauffeur stepped from his seat, collected a brown-paper package from the interior, and entered.
“Can I see a member of the firm?”
The clerk in the enquiry office looked surprised. Chauffeurs offering manuscripts on behalf of their employers were plentiful as blackberries in September; but chauffeurs demanding an interview with the august heads of the house were rare as blackberries in March.
“I’m afraid you can’t do that,” he replied civilly. “If you leave it here, it will be all right. I’ll give you a receipt which you can take back.”
“I want to explain,” said the chauffeur.
Scores of people weekly expressed the same desire. It was the business of the clerk to suppress explanations.
“It’s a manuscript to be submitted? Well, you must tell the author——”