THE BRASS BOWL
It appeared that he knew Maitland by sight, or else thought that he did.
"Oh, ye're Mister Maitland, ain't yous?" he said. "Nope; if Misther Bannerman's in his offis, I dunno nothin' about it."
"He was to meet me here at two," Anisty affirmed. "It's a very important case. I'm sure he must be along, immediately, if he's not up-stairs. You're sure?"
"Nah, I ain't sure. He may've been there all night, f'r all I know. But I'll take yous up 'f you want," with a doubtful glance at the girl.
"This lady is one of Mr. Bannerman's clients, and in great trouble." The self-styled Maitland laid his hand in a protecting gesture over the fingers on his arm; and pressed them cruelly. "I think we will go up, thank you. If Bannerman's not in, I can 'phone him. I've a pass-key."
The watchman appeared satisfied: Maitland's social standing was guaranty enough.
"All right, sir. Step in."
The girl made one final effort to hang back.
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