Now if you will kindly take in my card--'
'But I tell you,' persisted the perplexed servant, 'that the master
left in his motor car for the county ball at the Royal--'
'Oh, I know, I know. There stands his suit of armour, too, newly
blackleaded, whose coat of arms is a couchant typewriter on an
automobile rampant.'
'Great heavens!' cried Sir George, his eyes brightening with the light
of unholy desire, 'you have material enough there, Doyle, for a story
in our January number. What do you say?'
A deep frown marred the smoothness of the novelist's brow.
'I say,' he replied sternly, 'that this man has been sending
threatening letters to me. I have had enough of his menaces.'
'Then triply bolt the door,' advised Newnes, with a sigh of
disappointment, leaning back in his chair.
'Do you take me for a man who bolts when his enemy appears?' asked
Doyle fiercely, rising to his feet. 'No, I will unbolt. He shall meet
the Douglas in his hall!'
'Better have him in the drawing-room, where it's warm,' suggested Sir
George, with a smile, diplomatically desiring to pour oil on the
troubled waters.
The novelist, without reply, spread a copy of that evening's
_Westminster Gazette_ over the pile of gold, strode to the door, threw
it open, and said coldly:--
'Show the gentleman in, please.
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