‘Gentleman—that is, person—wanted most particularly to know—please to see him, Sir Sykes!’ deferentially hinted the under-butler, sliding on noiseless feet up to the angle of his master’s library table. ‘He was very pressing—send in card,’ continued the man, slurring over the words he uttered with that inimitable slipperiness of diction of which the English, and indeed Cockney man-servant possesses the monopoly, and which seems obsequiously to suggest rather than boldly to announce. Sir Sykes looked up in some surprise. ‘Did he mention what he wanted?’ he asked. ‘No, Sir Sykes,’ replied the under-butler, edging the emblazoned tray on which lay the card, a little nearer, as an experienced angler might bring his bait within striking distance of the pike that lay among the weeds. ‘You may shew him in—here,’ said Sir Sykes, as, without taking the card, he read the name upon it, and which was legibly inscribed in a big, bold, black handwriting. With a bow the under-butler withdrew to execute his master’s orders. Great people—and a baronet of Sir Sykes Denzil’s wealth and position may for all practical purposes be classed among the great of the earth—are proverbially difficult of access. It is the business of those about them to hedge them comfortably in from flippant or interested intrusions which might ruffle the golden calm of their existence; and suspicious-looking strangers by no means find the door of such a mansion as Carbery, as a rule, fly open at their summons. The man who had on this occasion effected an entry was not one of those whose faces are their best letters of recommendation. The card he had given bore the name of Richard Hold, and under ordinary circumstances, such a caller as the mariner would never have succeeded in being put into communication with a higher dignitary than the house-steward or the groom of the chambers. However, by a judicious mixture of bribing and bullying, the visitor had induced the under-butler to do his errand. Under certain circumstances, half a sovereign is a sorry douceur, even to an under-butler, but when tendered in company with enigmatical threats of ‘starting with a rope’s end,’ by a seafaring personage of stalwart build and resolute air, such a coin becomes doubly efficacious as a persuader. Richard Hold, master mariner, came in with a curious gait and mien, half-slinking, half-swaggering, like a wolf that daylight has found far from the forests and among the haunts of men. He was dressed in very new black garments, ‘shore-going clothes,’ as he would himself have described them; and the hat that he carried in his hand was new and tall and hard. He had even provided himself with a pair of gloves, so desirous was he to omit no item of the customary garb of gentlemen; but these he carried loose, instead of subjecting his strong brown fingers to such unwonted confinement. ‘I cannot say that I expected this honour, Mr Hold,’ said the baronet, stiffly motioning his unwelcome visitor to a seat.