“Did he leave a card, James?”
“No, Sir Charles. He asked to see you—or her ladyship.”
“Or me?” Lady Thorold exclaimed. “Why, how very mysterious. What was he like?”
“A tall, powerfully-built man, m’lady.”
“A gentleman?”
“M’yes, m’lady. He came in a car.”
As James said this in his grave, solemn way, I saw Vera Thorold’s eyes twinkle with amusement. For Sir Charles’s only child possessed that gift rare in a woman—a sense of humour.
“You are sure you have the name right?” Thorold said, after a moment’s pause.
“Quite, Sir Charles. I think he was not going to give his name, as you were out. I asked him what name, and he seemed to hesitate, then he said: ‘Oh, say Mr Smithson called, Sir Charles knows me,’ and then he seemed to smile, Sir Charles.”
“He seemed to smile. I wonder why?”