I waited a few seconds, then adventured the stairway to
the left, up which he had disappeared. I entered the small salon in which
Langdon had received me on my other visit. From the direction of an open
door, I heard his voice--he was saying: "I am not at home. There's no
message."
And still I did not realize that it was I he was avoiding!
"It's no use now, Langdon," I called cheerfully. "Beg pardon for seeming to
intrude. I misunderstood--or didn't hear where the servant said I was to
wait. However, no harm done. So long! I'm off." But I made no move toward
the door by which I had entered; instead, I advanced a few feet nearer the
door from which his voice had come.
After a brief--a very brief--pause, there came in Langdon's
voice--laughing, not a trace of annoyance: "I might have known! Come in,
Matt!"
IX
LANGDON AT HOME
I entered, with an amused glance at the butler, who was giving over his
heavy countenance to a delightful exhibition of disgust and discomfiture.
It was Langdon's sitting-room. He had had the carved antique oak interior
of a room in an old French palace torn out and transported to New York
and set up for him. I had made a study of that sort of thing, and at Dawn
Hill had done something toward realizing my own ideas of the splendid.
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