At last he pushed his papers away, put on his hat and coat, and walked into the street.
At the Milan Court, the hall-porter received his inquiry for Elizabeth with an air of faint but well-bred surprise.

Tavernake, in those days, was a person exceedingly difficult to place.

His clothes so obviously denoted the station in life which he really occupied, while the slight imperiousness of his manner, his absolute freedom from any sort of nervousness or awkwardness, seemed to bespeak a consideration which those who had to deal with him as a stranger found sometimes a little puzzling.
"Mrs.Wenham Gardner is in her rooms, I believe, sir," the man said.

"If you will wait for a moment, I will inquire." He disappeared into his office, thrusting his head out, a moment or two later, with the telephone receiver still in his hand.
"Mrs.Gardner would like the name again, sir, please," he remarked.
Tavernake repeated it firmly.
"You might say," he added, "that I shall not detain her for more than a few minutes." The man disappeared once more.

When he returned, he indicated the lift to Tavernake.
"If you will go up to the fifth floor, sir," he said, "Mrs.Gardner will see you." Tavernake found his courage almost leaving him as he knocked at the door of her rooms.