Adrien Leroy

It was a cold night in early spring, and the West End streets were nearly deserted. The great shutters of the shops were being drawn down with a dull rumble, and every moment the pavements grew more dreary looking as the glories of the plate-glass windows were hidden.
Tired workers with haggard faces were making their way homeward; to them the day was at an end. But to the occupants of the whirring taxis and smart motors, as they sped westward, the round of their day was but half-way through; for them, the great ones of the earth, the all-important hour of dinner was at hand.
At the entrance of one of the most luxurious clubs in Pall Mall two men, in immaculate evening dress, stood carelessly surveying the hurrying throngs of people.
Seven, said one, as the hour struck from the nearest church. I thought Standon said seven.
Yes, and like a woman, meant half-past, returned the other, hiding a yawn.
Stan's too young to value his dinner properly, but Leroy ought to have been punctual. Oh, here is Stan! as a slight, well-dressed man sprang hastily from a smart motor and came towards them.
Hello! said the new-comer, shaking hands, you two fellows first? I hope I'm not late, Shelton.
Of course you're late, growled Shelton, with characteristic pessimism. You always are, and Leroy is worse. Come along, we may as well wait inside as in this beastly draught.
In the great dining-hall the snowy-covered tables were being taken rapidly by members about to dine; silent-footed waiters were hurrying to and fro, carrying out their various duties, while intermittently the sound of opening champagne bottles mingled with the buzz of conversation and the ripple of laughter.
The three men, Mortimer Shelton, Lord Standon and Frank Parselle, seated themselves at a table in a comfortable recess and took stock of the room, responding to numerous nods and smiles of recognition, while grumbling at the unpunctuality of their friend.
Ten past seven! groaned Shelton, looking at his watch. I might have known that Leroy would be late. Shall we wait?