"
The man turned up a side street and drove off. Still the Bishop
watched, only by now the hopefulness had gone from his face. He
had sought for something of which there had been no sign.
He dismissed his taxicab in front of a large and newly finished
block of buildings in the vicinity of Westminster. A lift man
conducted him to the seventh floor, and a commissionaire ushered
him into an already crowded waiting room. A youth, however, who
had noticed the Bishop's entrance, took him in charge, and,
conducting him through two other crowded rooms, knocked reverently
at the door of an apartment at the far end of the suite. The door
was opened, after a brief delay, by a young man of unpleasant
appearance, who gazed suspiciously at the distinguished visitor
through heavy spectacles.
"The Bishop wishes to see Mr. Fenn," his guide announced.
"Show him in at once," a voice from the middle of the room
directed. "You can go and have your lunch, Johnson."
The Bishop found himself alone with the man whom he had come to
visit,--a moderately tall, thin figure, badly-dressed, with a
drooping moustache, bright eyes and good forehead, but peevish
expression. He stood up while he shook hands with the Bishop and
motioned him to a chair.
"First time you've honoured us, Bishop," he remarked, with the air
of one straining after an equality which he was far from feeling.
"I felt an unconquerable impulse to talk with you," the Bishop
admitted. "Tell me your news?"
"Everything progresses," Nicholas Fenn declared confidently.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122