Again he beat a tattoo,
louder and longer than the first one; and, having done so, waited with
his back to the house and stared across the unkempt garden into the fast
gathering shadows.
Then he turned suddenly, and saw that the door was standing ajar. It had
been quietly opened and a pair of eyes were peering at him round the
edge. There was no light in the hall beyond and he could only just make
out the shape of a dim human face.
"Does Mr. Garvey live here?" he asked in a firm voice.
"Who are you?" came in a man's tones.
"I'm Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary. I wish to see Mr. Garvey on
important business."
"Are you expected?"
"I suppose so," he said impatiently, thrusting a card through the
opening. "Please take my name to him at once, and say I come from Mr.
Sidebotham on the matter Mr. Garvey wrote about."
The man took the card, and the face vanished into the darkness, leaving
Shorthouse standing in the cold porch with mingled feelings of
impatience and dismay. The door, he now noticed for the first time, was
on a chain and could not open more than a few inches.
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