"Yes, sir, a gentleman."

"I tell you no gentleman would disturb another at this hour! Have done now, Moggat!"

"And although I told the gentleman, sir, as how my master was not yet robed and accordingly could not see any visitors, he said it was of no consequence to him whatsoever, and he would be obliged to you to ask him upstairs at once, sir. So I—"

"Confound his impudence!" growled Tom. "What's his name?"

"The gentleman, sir, on my asking what name I was to tell you, gave me to understand that it was of no matter."

"Devil take him! Show him out, Moggat! Like as not 'tis one of these cursed bailiffs. Why, you fool, what d'ye mean by letting him in?"

Moggat sighed in patient resignation.

"If you will allow me to say so, sir, this gentleman is not a bailiff."

"Well, who is he?"

"I regret, sir, I do not know."

"You're a fool! What's this fellow like?"

"The gentleman"—Moggat laid ever so little stress on the word—"is tall, sir, and—er—slim. He is somewhat dark as regards eyes and brows, and he is dressed, if I may say so, exceedingly modishly, with a point-edged hat, and very full-skirted puce coat, laced, French fashion, with—"

Tom snatched his nightcap off and threw it at Moggat.

"Numskull! D'ye think I want a list of his clothes? Show him out, the swarthy rogue! Show him out!"

Moggat picked up the nightcap, and smoothed it sadly.

"The gentleman seems anxious to see you, sir."

"Ay! Trying to dun me, the rascal! Don't I know it! Blustering and—"

"No, sir," said Moggat firmly. "I could not truthfully say that the gentleman blustered. Indeed, sir, if I may say so, I think him a singularly quiet, cool gentleman. Very soft-spoken, sir—oh, very soft-spoken!"

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