Leroux," she instructed the
maid, quietly, "that I wish to see him."
Ferris glanced rapidly at her companion, as a man appeared on the
landing, to inquire in an abysmal tone, if "them boxes was ready to be
took?" Helen Cumberly forestalled an insolent refusal which the cook, by
furtive wink, counseled to the housemaid.
"Don't trouble," she said, with an easy dignity reminiscent of her
father. "I will announce myself."
She passed the servants, crossed the lobby, and rapped upon the study
door.
"Come in," said the voice of Henry Leroux.
Helen opened the door. The place was in semidarkness, objects being but
dimly discernible. Leroux sat in his usual seat at the writing-table.
The room was in the utmost disorder, evidently having received no
attention since its overhauling by the police. Helen pressed the switch,
lighting the two lamps.
Leroux, at last, seemed in his proper element: he exhibited an unhealthy
pallor, and it was obvious that no razor had touched his chin for at
least three days. His dark blue eyes the eyes of a dreamer--were heavy
and dull, with shadows pooled below them. A biscuit-jar, a decanter and
a syphon stood half buried in papers on the table.
"Why, Mr. Leroux!" said Helen, with a deep note of sympathy in her
voice--"you don't mean to say".
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