The Clue of the Twisted Candle [28]
Square was a large one, occupying a corner site. It was peculiarly English in appearance with its window boxes, its discreet curtains, its polished brass and enamelled doorway. It had been the town house of Lord Henry Gratham, that eccentric connoisseur of wine and follower of witless pleasure. It had been built by him "round a bottle of port," as his friends said, meaning thereby that his first consideration had been the cellarage of the house, and that when those cellars had been built and provision made for the safe storage of his priceless wines, the house had been built without the architect's being greatly troubled by his lordship. The double cellars of Gratham House had, in their time, been one of the sights of London. When Henry Gratham lay under eight feet of Congo earth (he was killed by an elephant whilst on a hunting trip) his executors had been singularly fortunate in finding an immediate purchaser. Rumour had it that Kara, who was no lover of wine, had bricked up the cellars, and their very existence passed into domestic legendary.
The door was opened by a well-dressed and deferential man-servant and T. X. was ushered into the hall. A fire burnt cheerily in a bronze grate and T. X. had a glimpse of a big oil painting of Kara above the marble mantle-piece.
"Mr. Kara is very busy, sir," said the man.
"Just take in my card," said T. X. "I think he may care to see me."
The man bowed, produced from some mysterious corner a silver salver and glided upstairs in that manner which well-trained servants have, a manner which seems to call for no bodily effort. In a minute he returned.
"Will you come this way, sir," he said, and led the way up a broad flight of stairs.
At the head of the stairs was a corridor which ran to the left and to the right. From this there gave four rooms. One at the extreme end of the passage on the right, one on the left, and two at fairly regular intervals in the centre.
When the man's hand was on one of the doors, T. X. asked quietly, "I think I have seen you before somewhere, my friend."
The man smiled.
"It is very possible, sir. I was a waiter at the Constitutional for some time."
T. X. nodded.
"That is where it must have been," he said.
The man opened the door and announced the visitor.
T. X. found himself in a large room, very handsomely furnished, but just lacking that sense of cosiness and comfort which is the feature of the Englishman's home.
Kara rose from behind a big writing table, and came with a smile and a quick step to greet the visitor.
"This is a most unexpected pleasure," he said, and shook hands warmly.
T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change in this strange young man. He could not be more confident than he had been, nor bear himself with a more graceful carriage. Whatever social success he had achieved, it had not spoiled him, for his manner was as genial and easy as ever.
"I think that will do, Miss Holland," he said, turning to the girl who, with notebook in hand, stood by the desk.
"Evidently," thought T. X.,"our Hellenic friend has a pretty taste in secretaries."
In that one glance he took her all in - from the bronze-brown of her hair to her neat foot.
T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite sex. He was self-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and its incidence too absorbing to give his whole mind to the serious problem of marriage, or to contract responsibilities and interests which might divert his attention from what he believed was the greater game. Yet he must be a man of stone to resist the freshness, the beauty and the youth of this straight, slender girl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the aliveness and buoyancy and the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her very presence.
"What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?" asked Kara laughingly. "I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have been discussing a begging letter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer."
The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thought T.
The door was opened by a well-dressed and deferential man-servant and T. X. was ushered into the hall. A fire burnt cheerily in a bronze grate and T. X. had a glimpse of a big oil painting of Kara above the marble mantle-piece.
"Mr. Kara is very busy, sir," said the man.
"Just take in my card," said T. X. "I think he may care to see me."
The man bowed, produced from some mysterious corner a silver salver and glided upstairs in that manner which well-trained servants have, a manner which seems to call for no bodily effort. In a minute he returned.
"Will you come this way, sir," he said, and led the way up a broad flight of stairs.
At the head of the stairs was a corridor which ran to the left and to the right. From this there gave four rooms. One at the extreme end of the passage on the right, one on the left, and two at fairly regular intervals in the centre.
When the man's hand was on one of the doors, T. X. asked quietly, "I think I have seen you before somewhere, my friend."
The man smiled.
"It is very possible, sir. I was a waiter at the Constitutional for some time."
T. X. nodded.
"That is where it must have been," he said.
The man opened the door and announced the visitor.
T. X. found himself in a large room, very handsomely furnished, but just lacking that sense of cosiness and comfort which is the feature of the Englishman's home.
Kara rose from behind a big writing table, and came with a smile and a quick step to greet the visitor.
"This is a most unexpected pleasure," he said, and shook hands warmly.
T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change in this strange young man. He could not be more confident than he had been, nor bear himself with a more graceful carriage. Whatever social success he had achieved, it had not spoiled him, for his manner was as genial and easy as ever.
"I think that will do, Miss Holland," he said, turning to the girl who, with notebook in hand, stood by the desk.
"Evidently," thought T. X.,"our Hellenic friend has a pretty taste in secretaries."
In that one glance he took her all in - from the bronze-brown of her hair to her neat foot.
T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite sex. He was self-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and its incidence too absorbing to give his whole mind to the serious problem of marriage, or to contract responsibilities and interests which might divert his attention from what he believed was the greater game. Yet he must be a man of stone to resist the freshness, the beauty and the youth of this straight, slender girl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the aliveness and buoyancy and the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her very presence.
"What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?" asked Kara laughingly. "I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have been discussing a begging letter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer."
The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thought T.