At this juncture the head waiter appeared upon the scene, and took up a position just inside the doorway as if he were afraid of injuring the carpet by coming any further.
"Is No. 22 ready, Williams?"
"Quite ready, sir. The wine is on the ice, and cook tells me he'll be ready to dish punctual to the moment."
"The letter says 'no electric light, candles with red shades.' Have you put on those shades I got this morning?"
"Just seen it done this very minute, sir."
"And let me see, there was one other thing." He took the letter from the chief bookkeeper's hand and glanced at it. "Ah, yes, a porcelain saucer, and a small jug of new milk upon the mantelpiece. An extraordinary request, but has it been attended to?"
"I put it there myself, sir."
"Who wait?"
"Jones, Edmunds, Brooks, and Tomkins."
"Very good! Then I think that will do. Stay. You had better tell the hall porter to look out for three gentlemen with plain visiting cards having a little red spot on each. Let Brooks stand in the hall, and when they arrive tell him to show them straight up to the room."
"It shall be done, sir."
The head waiter left the room, and the manager stretched himself in his chair, yawned by way of showing his importance, and then said solemnly:
"I don't believe they'll any of them turn up; but if they do, this Dr. Nikola, whoever he may be, won't be able to find fault with my arrangements."
Leaving the dusty high road of Business, they wandered in the shady bridle-paths of Love—to the end that when the chief bookkeeper returned to her own department, she had forgotten the strange dinner party about to take place upstairs, and was busily engaged upon a calculation as to how she would look in white satin and orange blossoms, and whether it was true, as Miss Joyce, a subordinate, had been heard to declare, that the manager had once shown himself partial to a certain widow with reputed savings and a share in an extensive egg and dairy business.
At ten minutes to eight precisely a hansom drew up at the steps of the hotel. An undersized gentleman, with a clean shaven countenance, a canonical corporation, and bow legs, dressed in a decided clerical garb, alighted. He paid and discharged his cabman, and then took from his ticket pocket an ordinary white visiting card, which he presented to the gold-laced individual who had opened the apron. The latter, having noted the red spot, called a waiter, and the reverend gentleman was escorted upstairs.
Hardly had the attendant time to return to his station in the hall, before a second cab made its appearance, closely followed by a third. Out of the second jumped a tall, active, well-built man of about thirty years of age. He was dressed in evening dress of the latest fashion, and to conceal it from the vulgar gaze wore a large Inverness cape of heavy texture. He also in his turn handed a white card to the porter, and having done so proceeded into the hall, followed by the occupant of the other cab, who had closely copied his example. This individual was also in evening dress, but it was of a different stamp. It was old-fashioned and had seen much wear. The wearer, too, was taller than the ordinary run of men, but it was noticeable that his hair was snow-white, and that his face was deeply pitted with smallpox. After disposing of their hats and coats in an ante-room, they reached room No. 22, where they found the gentleman in clerical costume pacing impatiently up and down.
Left alone, the tallest of the trio, who for want of a better title we may call the Best Dressed Man, took out his watch and having looked at it, glanced at his companions.
"Gentlemen," he said with a slight American accent, "it is three minutes to eight o'clock. My name is Eastover!"
"I'm glad to hear it, for I'm most uncommonly hungry," said the next tallest, whom I have already described as being so marked by disease. "My name is Prendergast!"
"We only wait for our friend and host," remarked the clerical gentleman, as if he felt he ought to take a share in the conversation, and then, as if an afterthought had struck him, he continued, "My name is Baxter!"
They shook hands all round with marked cordiality, seated themselves again, and took it in turns to examine the clock.
"Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting our host before?" asked Mr. Baxter of Mr. Prendergast.
"Never," replied that gentleman with a shake of his head. "Perhaps Mr. Eastover has been more fortunate?"
"Not I," was the brief rejoinder. "I've had to do with him off and on for longer than I care to reckon, but I've never set eyes on him up to date."
"And where may he have been the first time you heard from him?"
"In Nashville, Tennessee," said Eastover. "After that Tahupapa, New Zealand; after that Papeete, in the Society Islands; then Pekin, China. And you?"
"First time Brussels, second Monte Video, third Mandalay, and then the Gold Coast, Africa. It's your turn, Mr. Baxter."
The clergyman glanced at the timepiece. It was exactly eight o'clock.
"First time Cabul, Afghanistan; second, Nijni Novgorod, Russia; third Wilcannia, Darling River, Australia; fourth Valparaiso, Chili; fifth Nagasaki, Japan."
"He is evidently a great traveller and a most mysterious person."
"He is more than that, he is late for dinner!" said Eastover.
Prendergast looked at his watch.
"That clock is two minutes fast. Hark, there goes Big Ben! Eight exactly."
As he spoke the door was thrown open and a voice announced:
"Dr.Nikola."
The three men sprang to their feet simultaneously with exclamations of astonishment as the man they had been discussing made his appearance.
It would take more time than I can spare the subject to give you an adequate and inclusive description of the man who entered the room at that moment. In stature he was slightly above the middle height, his shoulders were broad, his limbs perfectly shaped and plainly muscular, but very slim. His head, which was magnificently set upon his shoulders, was adorned with a profusion of glossy black hair; his face was destitute of beard or moustache, and was of oval shape and handsome moulding; while his skin was of a dark olive hue, a colour which harmonized well with his piercing black eyes and hair. His hands and feet were small, and the greatest dandy must have admitted that he was irreproachably dressed, with a neatness that almost bordered on the puritanical. In age he might have been anything from eight-and-twenty to forty; in reality he was thirty-three. He advanced into the room and walked with outstretched hand directly across to where Eastover was standing by the fireplace.
"Mr. Eastover, I feel certain," he said, fixing his glittering eyes upon the man he addressed, and allowing a curious smile to play upon his face.
"That is my name, Dr. Nikola," the other answered with evident surprise. "But how on earth can you distinguish me from your other guests?"
"Ah! it would surprise you if you knew. And Mr. Prendergast, and Mr. Baxter. This is delightful; I hope I am not late. We had a collision in the Channel this morning and I was almost afraid I might not be up to time. Dinner seems ready; shall we sit down to it?"
They seated themselves and the meal commenced. The Imperial Restaurant has earned a reputation for doing things well, and the dinner that night did not in any way detract from its lustre. But delightful as it all was, it was noticeable that the three guests paid more attention to their host than to his excellent menu. As they had said before his arrival, they had all had dealings with him for several years, but what those dealings were they were careful not to describe. Perhaps they hardly liked to remember them themselves.
When coffee had been served and the servants had withdrawn, Dr. Nikola rose from the table and went over to the massive