double bolted, of course refused to yield to the gentle pressure from without.
Forsyth laid his finger to his lips for silence, and motioned Beaumanoir to retire into the bedroom, which communicated by means of folding doors with the sitting-room. When the Duke had noiselessly disappeared, Forsyth stole to the outer door, and having first quietly drawn the bolts he quickly unlocked it and flung it open, to be confronted by an undersized little man, who shrank back from his threatening attitude.
“Who the deuce are you—and what do you want, disturbing me at this time of night?” Forsyth demanded fiercely.
“These are Mr. Crofton’s chambers, ain’t they, sir?” bleated the intruder.
“No; they are not. There’s no one of that name in the house that I know of,” replied Forsyth, partially mollified by his mild manner, and wholly so when the little man proceeded to apologize for his mistake, explaining that he was from a chemist’s in the Strand with some medicine for the gentleman, but that he must have come to the wrong house.
Holding up a bottle as evidence of his bona fides, he retreated downstairs, excusing himself
[80]
