MR.

GAVIN SMEATON I walked into a room right at the top of the building, wherein a young man of thirty or thereabouts was sitting at a desk, putting together a quantity of letters which a lad, standing at his side, was evidently about to carry to the post.

He was a good-looking, alert, businesslike sort of young man this, of a superior type of countenance, very well dressed, and altogether a noticeable person.

What first struck me about him was, that though he gave me a quick glance when, having first tapped at his door and walked inside his office, I stood there confronting him, he finished his immediate concern before giving me any further attention.
It was not until he had given all the letters to the lad and bade him hurry off to the post, that he turned to me with another sharp look and one word of interrogation.
"Yes ?" he said.
"Mr.Gavin Smeaton ?" asked I.
"That's my name," he answered.

"What can I do for you ?" Up to that moment I had not the least idea as to the exact reasons which had led me to climb those stairs.