They passed muster under the eye of the chief detective, and, after the bell-boy had rung, were admitted to the private parlor where Simon Harley lay stretched on a lounge with his wife beside him. She had been reading, evidently aloud and when her visitor was announced rose with her finger still keeping the place in the closed book.
The gaze she turned on him was of surprise, almost of alarm, so that the man on the threshold knew he was not expected.
“You received my card?” he asked quickly.
“No. Did you send one?” Then, with a little gesture of half-laughing irritation: “It must have gone to Mr. Harvey again. He is Mr. Harley’s private secretary, and ever since we arrived it has been a comedy of errors. The hotel force refuses to differentiate.”
“I must ask you to accept my regrets for an unintentional intrusion, Mrs. Harley. When I was told to come up, I could not guess that my card had gone amiss.”
The great financier had got to his feet and now came forward with extended hand.
“Nevertheless we are glad to see you, Mr. Ridgway, and to get the opportunity to express our thanks for all that you have done for us.”
The cool fingers of the younger man touched his lightly before they met those of his wife.
“Yes, we are very glad, indeed, to see you, Mr. Ridgway,” she added to her husband’s welcome.
“I could not feel quite easy in my mind without hearing from your own lips that you are none the worse for the adventures you have suffered,” their visitor explained after they had found seats.