They said their master was at home, but they did not know if he
could receive visitors.
"He won't refuse to see me," said Dale confidently. "Tell him it's Mr.
Dale of Rodchurch, and won't detain him two minutes."
"Very good," said the principal servant gravely. "But I can't disturb
him if he's resting."
"Oh, if he's resting," said Dale, "I'll wait. I'll make my time his
time--whether convenient to me or not." Then they led him down a
passage, past a cloak-room and a lavatory, to a small room right at
the back of the house.
Perhaps the room seemed small only by reason of its great height.
Dale, waiting patiently, examined his surroundings with curious
interest. There were two old-fashioned writing-tables--one looking as
if it was never used, and the other looking busy and homelike, with a
cabinet full of every conceivable sort of notepaper, trays full of
pens, and little candles to be lighted when one desired to affix
seals. On a roundabout conveniently near there were books of reference
that included the current volume of the _London Post Office
Directory_. The sofas and chairs were upholstered in dark green
leather, the chimney-piece was of carved marble, a few ancient and
rather dismal pictures hung almost out of sight on the walls; and
generally, the room would have produced an impression of a repellent
and ungenial kind of pomp, if it had not been for the extremely human
note struck by the large assortment of photographs.
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