He fingered the card, scrutinized it carefully, turned it over, looked heavenward reflectively, as though the final permission for the visit remained with him, and finally admitted the visitor.
"Mr.Ingolby ain't in," he said.

"He went out a little while back.

You got to wait," he added sulkily, as he showed the Romany into Ingolby's working-room.
As Jim did so, he saw lying on a chair a suit of clothes on top of which were a wig and false beard and moustache.

Instantly he got between the visitor and the make-up.

The parcel was closed when he was in the room a half-hour before.