“You will have time for your talk, old chap,” said Anthony, looking at his watch as the door opened.
Somewhat to his surprise Steadman came out. The barrister for once was not looking as immaculately neat as usual. His coat was dusty and he was carrying his right arm stiffly. He held out a note to his chauffeur.
“There. It's quite close to Stepney Causeway. Get the woman to the hospital as soon as possible. Hello, inspector—a word with you.”
He was turning with the inspector when Tony interrupted.
“You look as if you had been in the wars, sir. Have you had an accident?”
“No,” responded the barrister curtly. Then with a jerk of his head in the direction of the other car. “That fellow, Mrs. Phillimore's man, isn't fit to drive a donkey cart. Nearly ran over a child just now. All we could do to get her out alive save with a broken arm. I took her to the Middlesex Hospital and now I'm sending for her mother. Mrs. Phillimore doesn't seem very helpful except in the matter of weeping. Well, so long, my boy—see you again in a minute or two.”
He turned off with the inspector. Anthony went through the hall to the drawing-room where he found his father talking to Mrs. Bechcombe and a small, fair, handsomely dressed woman with brilliant blue eyes—his cousin's American fiancée, Mrs. Phillimore.
Anthony was no stranger to her. He had met her on several occasions and while admitting her undoubted charm he was conscious that somehow or other he did not quite like Mrs. Phillimore, the Butterfly, as he had named her. Apparently the feeling was not mutual, for Mrs. Phillimore always seemed to go out of the way to be gracious to her fiancé's cousin.
To-day, however, he did not receive his usual smile, and he saw that in spite of her make-up she was looking pale and worried.
“Where is Aubrey?” he inquired, as he shook hands. “Got a holiday from his blessed Community to-day, I suppose?”