He continued to stare in a puzzled way at the window curtains, when a
voice by the door said:
"Good evening!--or perhaps, to be correct, good morning! You are Mr.--"
"Lapenotiere," answered the Lieutenant, who had turned sharply.
The voice--a gentleman's and pleasantly modulated--was not one he
knew; nor did he recognise the speaker--a youngish, shrewd-looking
man, dressed in civilian black, with knee-breeches. "Lapenotiere--of
the _Pickle_ schooner."
"Yes, yes--the porter bungled your name badly, but I guessed.
Lord Barham will see you personally. He is, in fact, dressing with
all haste at this moment. . . . I am his private secretary,"
explained the shrewd-looking gentleman in his quiet, business-like
voice. "Will you come with me upstairs?"
Lieutenant Lapenotiere followed him. At the foot of the great
staircase the Secretary turned.
"I may take it, sir, that we are not lightly disturbing his
Lordship--who is an old man."
"The news is of great moment, sir. Greater could scarcely be."
The Secretary bent his head. As they went up the staircase
Lieutenant Lapenotiere looked back and caught sight of the
night-porter in the middle of the hall, planted there and gazing up,
following their ascent.
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