COMING OF THE BLACK STONE
When I entered that quiet thoroughfare it seemed deserted. Sir Walter's house was in the narrow part and outside it three or four motor-cars were drawn up. I slackened speed some yards off and walked briskly up to the door. If the butler refused me admission, if he even delayed to open the door, I was done.
He didn't delay. I had scarcely rung before the door opened.
"I must see Sir Walter," I panted. "My business is desperately important."
That butler was a great man. Without moving a muscle he held the door open, and then shut it behind me. "Sir Walter is engaged, sir, and I have orders to admit no one Perhaps you will wait."
The house was of the old-fashioned kind, with a wide hall and rooms on both sides of it. At the far end was an alcove with a telephone and a couple of chairs, and there the butler offered me a seat.
"See here," I whispered. "There's trouble about and I'm in it. But Sir Walter knows
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