Drummond looked at him fixedly. It was a calculating glance and a cold one. And there was the contempt in it that a sober man has for one far gone in drink.
“And do you usually break into a man’s house when you want to apologize?” There was almost a sneer in his voice.
“Break in?” retorted the other, apparently slow at comprehending him, “the damn door wasn’t locked. Any one could get in. Burglars could break through and steal. Most foolish. I lock my door every night. All sensible people do. Surprised at you.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Drummond. He took a grip on his visitor’s arm and led him through the hall to the door. It was unlocked and the burglar alarm system disconnected. It was not the first time that Drummond’s man had forgotten it. In the morning he would be dismissed. Apparently this irresponsible young ass had got the idea in his stupid head that he had acted offensively and had calmly walked in. It was the opportunity for the banker to cultivate him.
“As I came in,” Trent told him, “some one was coming down the stairs. Better see who it was.”
Drummond looked at him suspiciously. Trent knew that he was not yet satisfied that his visitor’s story was worthy of belief. Then he spoke as one who humors a child.
“We’ll go and find out.”
Outside the door they came upon an elderly woman servant with a silver tray in her hands.
“Madame,” she explained, “was not able to eat any luncheon or dinner and has waked up hungry.”