‘Good.  I will.  The result I will communicate to you.’

I rose from my seat.  As I did so, someone rushed into the outer office with a din and a clatter.  Andrews’ voice, and another, became distinctly audible,—­Andrews’ apparently raised in vigorous expostulation.  Raised, seemingly, in vain, for presently the door of my own particular sanctum was thrown open with a crash, and Mr Sydney Atherton himself came dashing in,—­evidently conspicuously under the influence of one of those not infrequent ’moments of excitement’ of which I had just been speaking.

CHAPTER XXXV

A BRINGER OF TIDINGS

Atherton did not wait to see who might or might not be present, but, without even pausing to take breath, he broke into full cry on the instant,—­as is occasionally his wont.

’Champnell!—­Thank goodness I’ve found you in!—­I want you!—­At once!—­Don’t stop to talk, but stick your hat on, and put your best foot forward,—­I’ll tell you all about it in the cab.’

I endeavoured to call his attention to Mr Lessingham’s presence,—­ but without success.

‘My dear fellow—­’

When I had got as far as that he cut me short.

’Don’t “dear fellow” me!—­None of your jabber!  And none of your excuses either!  I don’t care if you’ve got an engagement with the Queen, you’ll have to chuck it.  Where’s that dashed hat of yours, —­or are you going without it?  Don’t I tell you that every second cut to waste may mean the difference between life and death?—­Do you want me to drag you down to the cab by the hair of your head?’

’I will try not to constrain you to quite so drastic a resource,—­ and I was coming to you at once in any case.  I only want to call your attention to the fact that I am not alone.—­Here is Mr Lessingham.’

In his harum-scarum haste Mr Lessingham had gone unnoticed.  Now that his observation was particularly directed to him, Atherton started, turned, and glared at my latest client in a fashion which was scarcely flattering.

‘Oh!—­It’s you, is it?—­What the deuce are you doing here?’

Before Lessingham could reply to this most unceremonious query, Atherton, rushing forward, gripped him by the arm.

‘Have you seen her?’

Lessingham, not unnaturally nonplussed by the other’s curious conduct, stared at him in unmistakable amazement.

‘Have I seen whom?’

‘Marjorie Lindon!’

‘Marjorie Lindon?’

Lessingham paused.  He was evidently asking himself what the inquiry meant.

‘I have not seen Miss Lindon since last night.  Why do you ask?’

’Then Heaven help us!—­As I’m a living man I believe he, she, or it has got her!’

His words were incomprehensible enough to stand in copious need of explanation,—­as Mr Lessingham plainly thought.

‘What is it that you mean, sir?’