Knowing that a sense of humour was not one of the things required of
him, he controlled a smile.

"We understood you wanted an expert, so I came myself."

"You are Mr. Rickman then?"

"Well--Mr. Rickman's son."

The lady puckered her brows as if trying to recall something, an idea,
a memory that escaped her. She gave it up.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Not more than half an hour or so."

"I am sorry. Perhaps you had better stay now and see what has to be
done."

He was tired, he had eaten nothing all day, his nerves were out of
order, and he had an abominable headache, but he intimated that he and
his time were at her service. She spoke with authority, and he
wondered who she was. Sir Frederick Harden's daughter? Or his sister?
Or his wife?

"As you see, the books are fairly well arranged. It will not take very
long to sort them."

Oh wouldn't it, though! His heart sank miserably as he followed her