I was wearied out myself with my long spell of watching; and now that
she was on guard I started off to bed, blinking my tired eyes in the
full light and feeling the weariness of a sleepless night on me all at
once. I had a good sleep, and after lunch I was about to start out to walk to
Jermyn Street, when I noticed an importunate man at the hall door. The
servant in charge was the one called Morris, formerly the “odd man,”
but since the exodus of the servants promoted to be butler pro tem. The stranger was speaking rather loudly, so that there was no
difficulty in understanding his grievance. The servant man was
respectful in both words and demeanour; but he stood squarely in front
of the great double door, so that the other could not enter. The first
words which I heard from the visitor sufficiently explained the
situation:

“That’s all very well, but I tell you I must see Mr. Trelawny! What is
the use of your saying I can’t, when I tell you I must. You put me
off, and off, and off! I came here at nine; you said then that he was
not up, and that as he was not well he could not be disturbed. I came
at twelve; and you told me again he was not up. I asked then to see
any of his household; you told me that Miss Trelawny was not up. Now I
come again at three, and you tell me he is still in bed, and is not
awake yet. Where is Miss Trelawny? ‘She is occupied and must not be
disturbed!’  Well, she must be disturbed! Or some one must. I am here
about Mr. Trelawny’s special business; and I have come from a place
where servants always begin by saying No. ‘No’ isn’t good enough for
me this time! I’ve had three years of it, waiting outside doors and
tents when it took longer to get in than it did into the tombs; and
then you would think, too, the men inside were as dead as the mummies. I’ve had about enough of it, I tell you. And when I come home, and
find the door of the man I’ve been working for barred, in just the same
way and with the same old answers, it stirs me up the wrong way. Did
Mr. Trelawny leave orders that he would not see me when I should come?”

He paused and excitedly mopped his forehead. The servant answered very
respectfully:

“I am very sorry, sir, if in doing my duty I have given any offence. But I have my orders, and must obey them. If you would like to leave
any message, I will give it to Miss Trelawny; and if you will leave
your address, she can communicate with you if she wishes.”  The answer
came in such a way that it was easy to see that the speaker was a
kind-hearted man, and a just one. “My good fellow, I have no fault to find with you personally; and I am
sorry if I have hurt your feelings. I must be just, even if I am
angry. But it is enough to anger any man to find himself in the
position I am. Time is pressing. There is not an hour—not a
minute—to lose! And yet here I am, kicking my heels for six hours;
knowing all the time that your master will be a hundred times angrier
than I am, when he hears how the time has been fooled away. He would
rather be waked out of a thousand sleeps than not see me just at
present—and before it is too late. My God! it’s simply dreadful,
after all I’ve gone through, to have my work spoiled at the last and be
foiled in the very doorway by a stupid flunkey! Is there no one with
sense in the house; or with authority, even if he hasn’t got sense? I
could mighty soon convince him that your master must be awakened; even
if he sleeps like the Seven Sleepers—”

There was no mistaking the man’s sincerity, or the urgency and
importance of his business; from his point of view at any rate. I
stepped forward. “Morris,” I said, “you had better tell Miss Trelawny that this
gentleman wants to see her particularly. If she is busy, ask Mrs.
Grant to tell her.”

“Very good, sir!” he answered in a tone of relief, and hurried away. I took the stranger into the little boudoir across the hall. As we
went he asked me:

“Are you the secretary?”

“No! I am a friend of Miss Trelawny’s. My name is Ross.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ross, for your kindness!” he said. “My name
is Corbeck. I would give you my card, but they don’t use cards where
I’ve come from. And if I had had any, I suppose they, too, would have
gone last night—”

He stopped suddenly, as though conscious that he had said too much. We
both remained silent; as we waited I took stock of him. A short,
sturdy man, brown as a coffee-berry; possibly inclined to be fat, but
now lean exceedingly. The deep wrinkles in his face and neck were not
merely from time and exposure; there were those unmistakable signs
where flesh or fat has fallen away, and the skin has become loose. The
neck was simply an intricate surface of seams and wrinkles, and
sun-scarred with the burning of the Desert. The Far East, the Tropic
Seasons, and the Desert—each can have its colour mark. But all three
are quite different; and an eye which has once known, can thenceforth
easily distinguish them. The dusky pallor of one; the fierce red-brown
of the other; and of the third, the dark, ingrained burning, as though
it had become a permanent colour. Mr. Corbeck had a big head, massive
and full; with shaggy, dark red-brown hair, but bald on the temples. His forehead was a fine one, high and broad; with, to use the terms of
physiognomy, the frontal sinus boldly marked. The squareness of it
showed “ratiocination”; and the fulness under the eyes “language”. He
had the short, broad nose that marks energy; the square chin—marked
despite a thick, unkempt beard—and massive jaw that showed great
resolution. “No bad man for the Desert!” I thought as I looked. Miss Trelawny came very quickly. When Mr. Corbeck saw her, he seemed
somewhat surprised. But his annoyance and excitement had not
disappeared; quite enough remained to cover up any such secondary and
purely exoteric feeling as surprise. But as she spoke he never took his
eyes off her; and I made a mental note that I would find some early
opportunity of investigating the cause of his surprise. She began with
an apology which quite smoothed down his ruffled feelings:

“Of course, had my Father been well you would not have been kept
waiting. Indeed, had not I been on duty in the sick-room when you
called the first time, I should have seen you at once. Now will you
kindly tell me what is the matter which so presses?” He looked at me
and hesitated. She spoke at once:

“You may say before Mr. Ross anything which you can tell me. He has my
fullest confidence, and is helping me in my trouble. I do not think
you quite understand how serious my Father’s condition is. For three
days he has not waked, or given any sign of consciousness; and I am in
terrible trouble about him. Unhappily I am in great ignorance of my
Father and his life. I only came to live with him a year ago; and I
know nothing whatever of his affairs.