that, like the business of the pen, it passed utterly without the knowledge of the secretary.
"Thank you so much. Good morning, Dr. Apthorp."
Lanyard was passing the desk when Blensop rose, and the footman was entering with his salver.
"A lady to see Colonel Stanistreet, sir—by appointment, she says."
Blensop glanced at the card. At the same time Stanistreet came in from the garden, leaving Stone to potter about visibly in the distance.
"Miss Brooke is here, sir," the secretary announced.
"Ask her to come in, please."
The footman retired.
"Howson is resting easily, Dr. Apthorp reports," Blensop added, going back to the safe. "Has Stone turned up anything of interest, sir?"
"Footprints," Stanistreet replied with a snort of moderate impatience. "He's quite upset since I've informed him the man who made them is"
"Good God!"
The interruption was Blensop's in a voice strangely out of tune. Stanistreet wheeled sharply upon him.
"What the deuce!" he snapped.
By every indication the secretary had suffered the most severe shock of his experience. His face was ghastly, his eyes vacant; his knees shook beneath him; one hand pressed convulsively the bosom of his waistcoat. His endeavours to reply evoked only a husky, rattling sound.
"What the devil has come over you?" Stanistreet insisted.
