"Then he will see me."
The other was shocked.
"Really, sir—"
Garth gave him a glimpse of his badge, pushed past, and entered the reception hall. The servant turned, staring at him with insolent eyes.
"You'll have to get out of here. Mr. Black has no official connection with the society. What do you mean by forcing—"
Garth called:
"Mr. Black! Mr. Black!"
The servant tried to catch his arm.
"This is outrageous."
"Mr. Black!" Garth called again.
And the response he had prayed for, the response he had made up his mind to force at all hazards, came quavering from the upper floor.
"Who is that? What's all this row, Arnold?"
Garth sprang up the stairs, eager and relieved at the quality of the voice. The young man of the limousine stood at the head, bending anxiously over, backed against the railing, as if to repel an assault.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Black," Garth said hurriedly. "I have to speak to you about something too important for delay."
He paused, embarrassed, reluctant to go on, for in the brightly lighted doorway of the living-room a woman had appeared, small, with an extraordinary grace of figure, and a face which, in a trivial, light-hearted way, impressed him as rarely beautiful. She wore evening dress. A wrap was draped across
