He had told James and John to go home, but to his annoyance he found
them still in the office and busy as though nothing extraordinary had
happened. Brushing by them, he dashed into the inner room and turned
the key in the lock of his safe.
"Come out!" he cried, but nobody answered him.
It was odd, but when he looked inside that massive room of steel,
nobody was to be discerned there. At the same instant, however, he
heard the Count's voice immediately behind him, and turning he
discovered the man at his elbow.
"Well?" asked the fellow.
So there he stood, exactly in the same attitude as Ambrose had left him
when he crossed the room to find the document. Indeed, the very same
cigarette was held by his evil-looking fingers, and it was clear that
he waited for the word which would signify acceptance of his contract.
"Good heavens," thought Ambrose, "I must have imagined it all."
He returned to his chair and tossed the paper across the table.
"I refuse to sign it," he said curtly, "you had better call on Alderman
Karlbard; he's a church-warden, a justice of the peace and a
philanthropist. He's your man and he's pretty sure to end in prison
anyway."
"Thank you for your introduction," said the Count quietly, and, bowing,
he withdrew with the same nonchalant air as he had entered. Trust the
devil to know when he is beaten.
Ambrose watched him go and then calling John, he asked what time it
was.
"A quarter to one, sir," said that worthy.
"Just in time to lunch with Kitty," Ambrose thought. And then jumping
up as a man who comes by a joyous idea, he cried: "By Gad, what a row I
mean to have with her--the darling!"