"
The boy departed, grinning, and little more than half an hour
later a respectable-looking man presented himself at Savoy Court,
inquiring of the attendant near the elevator for the apartments
of "his excellency," followed by an unintelligible word which
presumably represented "Ormuz Khan." The visitor wore a
well-brushed but threadbare tweed suit, although his soft collar
was by no means clean. He had a short, reddish-brown beard, and
very thick, curling hair of the same hue protruded from beneath a
bowler hat which had seen long service.
Like Mr. Jarvis, he was bespectacled, and his teeth were much
discoloured and apparently broken in front, as is usual with
cobblers. His hands, too, were toil-stained and his nails very
black. He carried a cardboard box. He seemed to be extremely
nervous, and this nervousness palpably increased when the
impudent page, who was standing in the lobby, giggled on hearing
his inquiry.
"He's second floor," said the youth. "Are you from Hot-Stuff
Jarvis?"
"That's right, lad," replied the visitor, speaking with a marked
Manchester accent; "from Mr. Jarvis."
"And are you really going up?" inquired the boy with mock
solicitude.
"I'm going up right enough. That's what I'm here for."
"Shut up, Chivers," snapped the hall porter. "Ring the bell." He
glanced at the cobbler. "Second floor," he said, tersely, and
resumed his study of a newspaper which he had been reading.
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